Why I Encourage Ex-Trump Supporters

It is annoying to hear a former Trump supporter become regretful for selfish reasons. It’s tiresome when they regret their vote only because they are getting screwed over, not because they care about anyone else’s struggles. There is bound to be some “serves you right” schadenfreude that accompanies this, as that’s a natural reaction. That being said, I have recently been seeing an influx of blogs and thinkpieces making fun of regretful former Trump supporters. I’m concerned with the ones that explicitly say, “I don’t want you to change your mind. You made your bed; now lie in it.”

If this sentiment comes from people who are most directly affected by his policies, I get it and am not going to suggest you respond differently. But I’ve seen a whole lot of this generated by middle class white people who are not Trump’s targets. Your feelings are valid—and, again, a sense of “I told you so” is normal. Even so, it’s counterproductive to tell Trump supporters, “I don’t want you to change your mind.” That’s effectively saying, “I don’t want you to learn. I don’t want you to become a better person.” When it comes from a middle class, white, non-immigrant citizen, it sounds privileged. When a person supports Trump for bigoted reasons, privileged people are the primary ones who can afford to tell them, “I don’t want you to change. I want you to stay bigoted because then I can feel gratified when bad things happen to you.” A marginalized person is more likely to want bigots to change their minds, because that affects their lives.

This is how I feel when people gloat about Trump supporters losing their health insurance, particularly if the gloater has secure health insurance and a good job. “If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me” is understandable, even though I disagree with the idea. But “I’m doing fine and I want you to lose your basic safety” is not something I can support. This comes down to “You made this choice; now suffer the consequences.” I agree that Trump supporters need to face negative consequences in order to understand the harm. However, no lesson is learned if those consequences include dying because they can’t afford treatment of a manageable disease. They also won’t learn if they lose access to higher education, as they will be deprived of resources that may enable them to change their minds. Saying that a person should be allowed to die of cancer because they’re a Trump supporter is still saying that people should be allowed to die of cancer if they can’t afford treatment. It’s supporting a system in which people lose their healthcare. This is similar to saying that rapists should be raped as punishment.

I don’t believe anyone is obligated to reach out to Trump supporters, but there is a difference between reaching out and just refraining from saying, “Don’t change your mind.” Within the far right, this is used to deter members from looking into other perspectives. They tell them, “See? Even if you change your mind and your whole way of thinking, the left will never accept you.” This is not the reason why Trump supporters think the way they do, but it doesn’t help the situation.

If some ex Trump supporters never move beyond primary self-interest, then that’s wrong. Still, the fact that they initially changed their minds because a policy affected them doesn’t mean they’ll always look at it with self-interest. It can start out that way, and then branch out into concern for others who are unlike themselves. A complete about-face rarely happens within one conversation. It can take years. The fact that someone is ignorant now, or is just starting to come out of it because they were harmed, doesn’t mean they’re forever irredeemable. When they are first starting to question their previous assumptions, that is when they most need encouragement from those who are willing. Encouragement is different from undue praise. It’s saying, “I’m glad you’re now seeing it this way. There are many ways in which he’s harming this country, and I’d like to talk about this more.”

How many of us on the left have improved our own values over the years? By improvement, I don’t mean becoming more ideologically pure. I mean compassionate, and nuanced, and understanding of potential. A hard leftist who says “I hope none of the Trump supporters ever change their minds” is by no means the moral equivalent of a Trump supporter who voted for him because they hate immigrants and condone sexual assault. I don’t know how much hope there is for the latter (although I’d like to think there’s hope for everyone). But to forget that we have also come from places of ignorance, and that we have sometimes been motivated because we were personally hurt, is to make ourselves morally unimpeachable. That position can become dangerous, no matter who it’s assigned to.

When the underprivileged are not political

I often hear the opinion that saying “I’m not political”, or choosing to avoid conversations about politics, is an act of privilege. That only sheltered people have the option of non-involvement. I would agree that if you’re personally effected by an issue, you are far more likely to care about it. I also recognize that people who are poor, or non-white, or immigrants, or women, or not straight, are often judged as “being political” when they’re just relaying their everyday experiences, because their existence itself is deemed political. All of this is true. But there are also ways in which marginalization can prevent political focus. Here are some examples.

A person who is homeless and living on the street is more likely to be focused on the basics of everyday survival than on contemplating political topics. If you’re expending all your time and energy trying to find food and shelter, you’re not going to spend hours reading about politics on the internet. You (most likely) won’t attend marches. You don’t have money to donate to causes, and can’t boycott products because you need to take what you can get.

Back in the fall of 2011, I was involved with the Occupy movement in New Haven. I’m glad to have taken part, as I learned a lot and met some wonderful people. Many of them made efforts to give to the homeless people on the New Haven green, which was good. They gave them food and offered a media platform to those who wanted one. But not every homeless person was enthusiastic. Some of the Occupiers were sleeping in tents on the green, and a homeless woman informed me she didn’t like it because “me and my friends need this space.” There was a notable moment when a fellow Occupier tried to high-five a homeless man in solidarity. He shook his head, clearly not enjoying the gesture. I’m not going to assume that none of the homeless people cared about politics, but many were too focused on their immediate needs to invest themselves in philosophical theories and keep up on current events.

If a person is not homeless but still living in urgent poverty, they may be too busy to pay attention to politics, get involved in community organizations, or similar things. They could be working so many hours that they barely have time to sleep, let alone dedicate large blocks of time to an ideology.

Additionally, mental health can play into this. I know people who disengage from social justice issues and choose not to involve themselves in political conversations—not because they’re apathetic, but because it will throw them into a psychological crisis. Extensive involvement in these things can be very detrimental to some peoples’ mental health, particularly if they struggle with depression, anxiety, PTSD, or agoraphobia. There are people with these conditions who choose to be involved, and that’s perfectly fine. But I respect the choice to disengage for their own well-being. Sometimes the ones who are most impacted by these topics are the ones who most need to pick and choose their battles, or else they strain themselves to the breaking point.

Some who are impacted by these social issues don’t have access to education that will teach them about it. Some are politically invested, but not liberal. I know people of marginalized identities who have right-wing values. Some don’t have the time, and others care so much that it drains them and they need to maintain distance for the sake of their health.

Many privileged people are involved in politics—and that can be a problem when they’re out of touch with others. It’s true that privilege can also play into non-involvement or apathy, but it can be more complicated than that.

Ethical publishing, and the bleach-blond elephant in the room

Roxane Gay, the author of “Bad Feminist,” is someone I greatly admire—both as a writer and as a person. She was recently set to have a book published by Simon & Schuster. She decided to cancel the deal upon learning that TED Books, a Simon & Schuster imprint, is going to also publish a project by Milo Yiannopoulos. In her words, “I can’t in good conscious let them publish it while they also publish Milo.” (While her book wasn’t going to be published by the same specific group that published Milo, there is a company link. TED is a Simon & Schuster offshoot that publishes works by conservative authors.)

I have heard of other authors making similar decisions. There are Thought Catalog writers who have pulled their work from the site because it provided a platform for some sexist, homophobic, and otherwise bigoted perspectives.

This is a decision I respect, and I understand the reasoning. This is a self-sacrificing choice for an author. They’re losing exposure and sometimes money for the sake of their principles. Roxane Gay acknowledged that she is financially comfortable enough to do this. She said she is “in a fortunate enough position to make this decision, so I’m putting my money where my mouth is.” Her ideals, combined with her understanding that not everybody can afford to make monetary decisions based on ideals, is one of the many reasons I respect her.

And if I were in that position, I am not sure I would make the same choice.

Part of this is because I am financially dependent and have nearly no income. I’m also an unknown writer with very few platforms. However, there’s a second reason I might make a different choice.

Milo Yiannopoulos is a thoroughly repugnant person who is not just an irritation, but a danger. He is a spokesman for the neo Nazi movement. If every author who stands against his beliefs were to pull their books from a publication, one of two things would happen.

Scenario one: The publishing company will stop selling his writings, and the writings of any of his peers. They will cease to give him a platform, and he will receive no more money from them.

Scenario two: With all progressive (or at least not regressive) voices gone, what will remain of that company’s clientele will be hateful, bigoted perspectives. They will become the voice of the company. In order to keep their business afloat, they will cater solely to that crowd and seek out more far-right extremists. Far-right fanatics who were previously obscure will then gain more publicity and a bigger following. It will become an expanding alt-right echo chamber.

Hopefully Scenario One would be the result, but I would be too afraid of the second scenario to risk that. If Scenario Two were to happen, I don’t believe in any way that the authors who pulled their books would be at fault. It is not their fault that there are scary hateful extremists in the world, and it is understandable they would want no affiliation. This is more than understandable; it’s ethical.

We would be hard pressed to find a company that has never published anything offensive, no matter how many forward-thinking authors they also include. Regardless, there’s a difference between publishing a garden variety “family values” crank, and publishing a Nazi sympathizer. Unfortunately, a company could point to their progressive authors whenever they want to evade responsibility for Milo. They could say, “We’re not sexist or racist or anti-Semitic; we published Roxane Gay!” Roxane Gay was most likely aware of that, and chose to circumvent the possibility.

It is also possible that a far-right author could refuse to publish with Simon & Schuster because they publish liberals. They could just as easily say, “I won’t work with them, because I want no affiliation with leftists.” The more outnumbered they are, the less comfortable they feel in that space.

I commend Gay for that value judgment, as well as anyone else who would share that conviction. Notwithstanding, I wouldn't fault a person who said, “I’m not going to take my voice away from this company. It contains a regressive voice, but it can also contain mine. Mine will counter the ignorance. And hopefully more voices will join my own, so my peers within this company will outnumber the bigots.”

Either decision can be based on honorable principles. I just hope the people with those principles win out, wherever they choose to publish their work.

The complex philosophies of MLK

Part of what makes Martin Luther King, Jr. such a fascinating figure is how he has been interpreted in so many different ways. Over the years, his quotes have been used—and misused—to promote completely opposite agendas. This isn’t because he contradicted himself; he didn’t. Rather, it’s because his ideas are more complex than many understand. They’re used in a similar manner to religious scripture. It is ironic, and very harmful, when a white person thinks they can claim ownership over his philosophies and tries to use him to discourage black activists.

These are some of my favorite quotes of his, all of which are frequently cited to argue he believed in one thing—and then referenced by others to claim he believed the opposite.

There are people (mainly white social conservatives) who will claim King believed in “colorblindness” and thought that distinct races should not be recognized or delineated, that race shouldn’t even be addressed. They cite this quote of his: “I look forward confidently to the day when all who work for a living will be one with no thought to their separateness as Negroes, Jews, Italians, or any other distinctions.”

But when that quote is used to support a “colorblind” perspective, let’s remember that MLK also said this: “I know there is strength in the differences between us. I know there is comfort where we overlap.” (Audre Lorde, a black socialist feminist philosopher, later elaborated on this sentiment when she said it is not our differences that divide us, but our failure to celebrate those differences.)

There are people who emphasize MLK’s pacifism with these quotes:

“We must learn to live together as brothers, or we are going to perish together as fools.”

“Nonviolence is a powerful and just weapon, which cuts without wounding and ennobles the man who wields it. It is a sword that heals.”

“Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.”

And yes, King was anti-violence. Unfortunately, too many white people who are opposed to Black Lives Matter and other pro-black movements will use those quotes to say those groups should stop addressing racism. They label every protest a riot and mistake pacifism for passiveness. MLK never said people should accept abuse with a smile, nor that hating one’s oppressors is just as bad as the oppression itself.

In fact, he said: “But it is not enough for me to stand before you tonight and condemn riots. It would be morally irresponsible for me to do that without, at the same time, condemning the contingent, intolerable conditions that exist in our society. These conditions are the things that cause individuals to feel that they have no other alternative than to engage in violent rebellions to get attention. And I must say tonight that a riot is the language of the unheard.”

He received a lot of hate for that statement.

There are those who will argue he was a moderate because of his stance on nonviolence. However, nonviolence doesn’t mean he supported a “middle ground” or refused to take sides. In that regard, this is what he said:

“First, I must confess that over the last few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in the stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Council-er or the Klu Klux Klanner, but the white moderate who is more devoted to ‘order’ than to justice, who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says ‘I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I can’t agree with your methods of direct action’, who paternalistically feels he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by the myth of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait until a ‘more convenient season.’ Shallow understanding from people of goodwill is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is more bewildering than outright rejection.”

Interestingly, the vlogger Kat Blaque made a video in which she recited that quote, and a commenter then called her a hateful extremist. She replied that it wasn’t her quote; it was something said by Dr. King.

Along the same vein is this statement from MLK: “The question is not whether we will be extremists, but what kind of extremists we will be…The nation and the world are in dire need of creative extremists.”

Some will claim King was a capitalist because he said, “Communism forgets that life is individual.” But, within context, this is the complete quote: “Communism forgets that life is individual. Capitalism forgets that life is social. And the kingdom of brotherhood is found neither in the thesis of communism nor in the antithesis of capitalism, but in a higher synthesis.”

Some say MLK was a feminist because he famously said, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” But he never called himself a feminist. Ella Baker, a high profile Civil Rights activist of the ‘60s, left the Southern Christian Leadership Conference because King didn’t want women to be leaders within it. However, he did support women being ordained as ministers, which was unusual at the time. As wonderful as King was in regards to racial justice, he didn’t address gender equality in all the ways he could have. He wasn’t perfect. But his wife, Coretta Scott King, spoke at feminist conferences and later supported gay rights.

There are conservatives who argue that MLK was against affirmative action because he said he wanted his children to be judged by the content of their character. But he also said, “Society that has done something special against the Negro for hundreds of years must now do something special for the Negro.”

So Martin Luther King was a very intriguing thinker and activist. He said things that people on both the right and the far left would disagree with, as well as agree with. Much of his approach was inspired by liberal Christianity. Try as many might, he can’t fit into a specific box. This is because his specialty was in breaking down barriers, whether they be boxes or red tape or walls. And, although he is no longer living, I believe he can still break down any wall that an infamous leader may want to build today.

Why "The Christmas Shoes" don't fit

Many of you likely remember that back in Ye Olde MySpace circa 2005, there was a bulletin feature. The bulletins were very much like Facebook statuses, but with one difference: you had to click on a hyperlink, in the form of a title, to read them. This sometimes tricked you into reading annoying chain mail. It was clickbait of the mid 2000s.

One of the varieties of chain mail was a saccharine, poorly written story meant to elicit strong feelings. There were multiple ones, but they usually followed this formula. I’m inventing this one, but they all sounded like:

Once a boy n his girlfriend were sitting @ a park. The gurl asked, “Do u like me???”

The boy said no.
The girl asked, “Do you want me?”
The boy said no.
The girl asked, “Do u want to be with me now??”
The boy said no.

The gurl ran off crying and on her way home she was hit by a car an died!!! Later, her bf stood @ her grave with tears in his eyes and said, “I said I didn’t like u because I meant that I LOVE you. I said I didn’t want u becuz I meant that I NEED you. And I said I don’t want 2 b with you now, because I want to b with u FOREVER. But now it’s too late.”

Friends, never be afraid to tell people how you feel!!! Repost if u cried.”

This was generally followed by a string of hearts and sad face emoticons.

In its defense, this was probably written by a twelve-year-old. And it was probably most often reposted by twelve-year-olds. But, to me, the song “Christmas Shoes” meets the same level of emotional depth. This becomes especially apparent as it’s played nonstop on the radio and in shopping centers throughout the holiday season. If you like it, I don’t look down on you for it. This is not a diatribe against you. But please allow me to explain my aversion.

Some of you may be thinking, “It’s about the true meaning of Christmas, which is giving to people! It’s about an impoverished boy with a terminally ill mother. How could that not move you?”

And that’s the problem. The implication, if not the direct response, from so many of the fans I’ve known is that you are fundamentally heartless if you’re unmoved by the narrative. That if you dislike the song, you must hate Christmas! And poor people! And children with terminally ill mothers! And Jesus! And shoes!

The reactions of the audience may not be the fault of the songwriters, but I believe the creators use aggressive tactics to shake out a response. This is how.

Manipulation within fiction is not inherently bad. When you choose to engage with fiction—whether through novels, illustrations, or songs that tell stories—you are, on a certain level, consenting to be emotionally manipulated. This does not mean deceived and lied to. This doesn’t mean being harmed. Rather, it means being purposefully made to feel things. But in that process, you want a nudge and not a shove.

The most skilled storytellers are ones who don’t let you know you’re being manipulated. You want to feel like you’re listening to a song, not being played as the instrument. The best puppeteers don’t let you see the strings. You want to feel, but to believe you have arrived at those reactions yourself. It feels patronizing to be made into a marionette, thrust clumsily around the stage by your own heartstrings.

What the songwriters and singers have done with “Christmas Shoes” is hit you over the head with a sentimental mallet. They start off the song with that little twinkly instrument that sounds like someone waving a fairy wand, to insinuate something magical will happen. They describe the boy as looking as visibly forlorn as possible, and then comes the gut punch: His mother’s dying and he just wants to buy her a pair of pretty shoes so she can look beautiful if she “meets Jesus tonight.” And he can’t afford the shoes, so the charitable narrator buys them for him at the end. It culminates with a sad sounding child singing the chorus, in case a Southern-accented vocalist evoking images of ‘Murica’s heartland isn’t enough. This is along the same vein as Hallmark cards and Nicholas Sparks novels. My husband described it as “a musical Thomas Kinkade painting.”

Aside from the maudlin quality, and the blunt force coercion, it looks on the surface like a critique of consumer culture. Everyone is going out and spending money, but this boy teaches the narrator the true meaning of Christmas by being so generous that it changes his outlook on life. This little child has nothing, but he’s breaking the bank to buy nice shoes for his mother so she can feel beautiful before she dies. At face value it looks like it flies in the face of materialism. But upon closer examination, it actually promotes it. This is why.

First, it pushes the idea that in order to be considered adequately poor to receive help, you must look as shabby as possible. The boy has torn clothes and his body is filthy. He is visibly helpless. This reeks of a “trauma porn” narrative, where writers exploit others’ pain in order to peddle inspiration.

The child does not want his mother to look as deprived as himself. He doesn’t want her to be denied lovely material things just because she’s poor. This is fair and it makes sense. But the plot line of this song plays into the very same moral it purports to defy: the idea of buying gifts you cannot afford to prove your love to others. That’s why this boy is so noble and selfless, because that’s what he’s trying to do. Also, since he’s a child, you wonder where he got the cash. He’s probably trying to buy his parent a present with her own limited money—not that he would likely have other options. That’s why the kindly adult who meets him in line decides to intervene and cover the cost himself.

The second factor that rings an alarm is not simply that she wants to feel beautiful, but that she wants to look pretty for Jesus in case she imminently dies. The song was originally written and performed by a Christian band, but it contradicts Christian values to imply that you need to be aesthetically pleasing to Jesus. That he is impressed with appearances and may turn you away if you don’t look fancy. This idea can be used to coerce people into buying things they can’t afford. If you want an example of how this manifests in real life, look at all the money people feel pressured to spend on expensive church clothes. I don't see this entirely as the fault of one song; the song is a symptom.

I understand this can all be seen as overanalyzing, and that sometimes a pair of shoes is just a pair of shoes. But songwriters, musicians, and producers place a great deal of thought and analysis into what they create. Nothing included in the final product is an accident.

I’m not immune to enjoying cheesy music. My playlists include an Avril Lavigne song and a massive Goo Goo Dolls catalog. But I do maintain that there’s a difference between emotional manipulation and emotional pressure, and “Christmas Shoes” stamps audiences under its soles with the latter.

How "edgy" kids become Neo Nazis, and how they can stop

            Last night I saw photos of swastikas that had been spray painted onto Wilbur Cross High School’s athletic complex, accompanied by the (misspelled) word “Trump.” This happened in the same town where I went to high school and college. It wasn’t surprising, but unnerving to see so close to home. No one knows who did it. This could be the work of committed Neo Nazis, and an unsettling indication that they’re operating in Connecticut. However, I have a strong inkling that it was the work of wannabe-edgy kids who thought it would be a funny prank.

            The latter would not, in any way, be excusable. But here on the left, some of us have a tendency to say that everyone drawing swastikas is the same. While not justifying the behavior, I think it’s helpful to examine the different motives so we can dismantle its foundation, wherever it comes from.

            I believe there are two groups of people defacing public property with racist and anti-Semitic graffiti. One group consists of adult Neo Nazis who are dedicated, zealous, and possibly physically violent. The other group consists of a distinct subset of nihilistic young people who want to be rebels. The second demographic can easily grow into the first. 

            I was one of those teenagers. I personally didn't do all of the following things, but this was our general demeanor: We were the kids who called others “sheeple.” Our attitude was, “Caring about stuff isn’t cool. Nothing really matters, and committing yourself to ideals is lame” (not acknowledging that spray painting graffiti or spending hours trolling online forums is commitment). We generally saw efforts to be culturally sensitive as self-righteous “political correctness,” and thought it was disingenuous. That being said, we didn’t consider ourselves the traditionally conservative right. We disliked patriotism, Christianity, police, and the military, but our reasons differed from why many liberals may distrust those institutions. Our objections were based on resentment of authority and disdain for anything impassioned. Back in the early 2000s, we hated Bush just as much as we liked Eric Cartman. We didn’t think homosexuality was immoral, but we thought it was funny to call straight people "fags" as a general term for "annoying person." And we saw this mentality as unique and independent, despite the fact that popular TV shows and entire lines of merchandize catered to us. 

            An ironic aspect was that while many of us tried to echo Nietzsche, we fundamentally misunderstood what he was about. Nietzsche may have believed life to be meaningless, but not worthless. He thought we could ascribe our own meanings. He may have stared into the abyss, but he didn’t romanticize it.

            Although these kids scoff at enthusiastic ideals, they can be recruited into the Alt-Right if convinced that it’s countercultural and will offend the perceived rigid morality of the left. It appeals to their bitterness, as they see themselves as dispassionate but deny that bitterness is emotional. It appeals to their hatred of the more authoritarian branches of the left. In order to make any headway with this young crowd, we have to acknowledge that such a type of authoritarianism exists. It’s not the majority of liberals, but it does manifest in those who promote heavy censorship and want people arrested for expressing regressive beliefs. It exists in those who defend Communist dictators (whether or not they view them as true Communists), and those who think it’s useless to be liberal unless you’re radicalized. The Alt-Right reaches out to people with resentments of those things, and molds them from cynics to ardent zealots.

            While I was never a KKK or Neo Nazi sympathizer, I was certainly a cynic. I thought being offended was worse than being offensive. I thought it made me look tough to flippantly joke about suicide, self-mutilation, and rape, namely because those things had impacted my life. At the same time, this demeanor was something I aspired to more than something I actually was. In my eyes, it was armor more so than a weapon, although in practice it was both. It was a defense against trauma and severe depression, but the “nothing matters” stance made my depression a lot worse.

            At that point in life I would occasionally see swastikas drawn on walls, usually accompanied by pentagrams and a hastily scrawled “Hail Satan.” I never did this myself, but I didn’t take it seriously. It seemed like a parody. I regarded Nazis as equally alien and mythical as Satan. Some of the offenders who defaced walls with these symbols probably saw it the same way. While the "edgy" kids' brand of so-called humor and graffiti mimics that of self-proclaimed Nazis, I think this is the difference: People who define themselves as Nazis and are adamant about that cause are more likely to commit physical violence and to run for public office so they can enforce those ideas. People who see it as a joke are behaving terribly, but it may be easier to change their minds.

            One person who didn’t see this as a parody was my grandmother, Kiki, a child of Russian immigrants who came to the US to escape pogroms. She was not a Holocaust survivor, but she was a survivor of the Holocaust era. This happened in her most formative years. Kiki remembered that when news of the Holocaust first broke out, many Americans disbelieved it. They thought it was a paranoid conspiracy theory or a grand-scale tasteless joke. Then the photos and the interviews came out. Then the survivors started talking.

            My grandpa, Harold, recalled that many of the WWII servicemen didn’t consider their fight a noble defense of the Jews. A great deal were anti-Semitic themselves. When he first joined the Air Force at seventeen, an interviewer asked if he would defend the United States no matter what. He responded with “Not if it becomes fascist,” and was given two weeks of extra training for that answer. As a Depression-era Jew, he couldn’t afford the naïve jingoism that the government and media were selling.

            When I was very small, Kiki told me, “If somebody ever asks you what your religion is, never say that you’re Jewish. They will hate you for it, and they can put you on a list.” At the time, I thought that sounded crazy. Growing up, I was sometimes called a Jew as an insult. It used to just confuse me because it seemed so outdated, and because I didn’t even observe the religion. But to an anti-Semite, simply having Jewish heritage is enough to label you an enemy. I was largely ignorant about oppression because although I was recognized as Jewish, I was also white and upper middle class.

            Back in high school, Kiki and I had discussed affirmative action. I thought it was unnecessary, believing that systemic racism no longer existed. Kiki told me it was a way to level the playing field. She had witnessed so much discrimination toward other races during her youth that it was impossible for her to think that would disappear over one lifetime. She relayed stories of competition and hierarchies. Some of the Jewish people she’d known had ostracized other races because they wanted a group to socially one-up. They saw it in terms like, “We’re Jewish, but at least we’re not black.” Others were afraid to socially engage with other targeted groups because they didn’t want to be further persecuted by proxy. Kiki always hated this, and said that pitting marginalized groups against one another was one of the worst crimes of the elite. She believed all disenfranchised people should support each other. I didn’t know the concept at the time, but she was talking about intersectionality.

            Kiki and Harold influenced me more than they knew. I disagreed throughout my childhood and adolescence, but came around to their way of thinking in later years. I decided to make an effort to listen to the experiences of marginalized people, rather than dismiss their concerns as paranoia. I took classes on the intersections of gender, race, and class. My beliefs are not perfect, but I’m learning and unlearning. The things my grandparents said have been confirmed time and time again. In the wake of a Trump presidency, their words continue to resonate.

            After moving to Milford in 2008, I noticed anti-Semitic graffiti in the train station bathroom. Someone had written “Fuck Jews.” I took out a Sharpie and added, “Consensually.” Another time I was in a local diner and overheard a slew of teenagers making loud, bigoted jokes. One of them shouted out, “Yo, let’s get a bunch of Jews and throw them in a gas chamber and make them fuck each other in the ass!” I called out, “You’d like that, motherfuhrers.” They didn’t get the joke. Sometimes it works to deflect the situation with humor, to show how absurd the bigotry is. Other times, different approaches are in order.

            The kids in the diner seemed a lot farther gone than nihilistic. But kids who are nihilistic can change. Essentially, they are at a crossroad. They can be steered in the direction of passion; either the kind that’s progressive or that leaves a legacy of damage. To grow, they need to learn that opposing bigotry is subversive. They have to see that oppression is real and not an expression of tongue-in-cheek irony. They need to know people of the groups that are affected. They can grow by reading history and knowing it’s not restricted to the past. And they need to know that even if they believe ignorant things now, they’re not a hopeless case.

          Life, after all, isn’t pointless. Even Nietzsche didn’t think so.

Bart Simpson as an overlooked prodigy

The Simpsons defined a lot of my identity as a kid because it was the only show my family watched. There were brief periods I’d dabble in a Disney show, and we all liked The Critic, but The Simpsons was the only consistent television media—at least up through middle school. They’d taped every episode since I was two. To a large extent, I looked at the world through a Simpsons lens instead of looking at The Simpsons through a world lens. That was because I was too young to know much outside it. It introduced me to bands and plays and films and books that were referenced throughout the episodes. My siblings were the same way. In elementary school, my sister used to draw our family as Simpsons characters.

While the show was hilarious, it had a lot of poignant elements. Wasted potential was a recurring theme.

Lisa is presented as a genius daughter living in an intellectually stifling environment. She lives in a setting where education is scorned by her dad, brother, and peers. She’s an incredibly gifted achiever, but suffers anxiety and depression. Even people who want to encourage her, such as Marge, can’t relate to her on the same wavelength. Her teacher doesn’t appreciate her gifts. We know Lisa will be abundantly successful in the future, but she first has to power through loneliness and an uninspiring social landscape.

As the show progresses, we see that Bart is also highly intelligent. His teachers assume otherwise because he is an underachiever. One of the saddest and most eye-opening episodes was “Lisa’s Sax.” It shows the memory of Bart starting kindergarten in 1990, excited and hopeful. He begins to show signs of academic struggle, which seem to be due to a learning disability. (Evidence throughout the show points to ADHD and dyslexia. He can comprehend the ideas he reads, but has trouble visually processing the words. When he tries to read them aloud and organize them, they get all jumbled up. He also is hyperactive and distractable.) The teachers pick up on his difficulties, but they don’t try to guide him. They act as though it’s his fault. As a small child, his spirits are dashed and he starts to resent everything academic—especially the school administration. He develops a hardline anti-authority stance. Bart realizes he can gain popularity by being a wiseass, so he latches onto that. He yearns for the approval of the cool (bad) kids and tries hard to fit in. The rebelliousness is a powerful defense. He can act as though his academic struggles are a choice. He can pretend he had rejected school, rather than vice versa. Bart was a smart kid with several learning disabilities who slipped through the cracks. He was also overlooked because Lisa was clearly a prodigy. Her intelligence was just more academically inclined.

Bart’s brilliance shows up in his mischief. He orchestrates complex, well thought out pranks. He’s impressively motivated and organized—he just uses those gifts in ways that are not productive. Bart is not a mean person. He wants to be popular, but isn’t a bully. His empathy for social outcasts is expressed in his friendship with Milhouse, and his attempt to take Martin under his wing to show him how to be cool. Bart’s pranks take on a “fuck the establishment” stance and he targets those in power. There are times when he develops sympathy for authority figures when he realizes they’re human. Any time he does something that genuinely hurts somebody, like getting Mr. Skinner fired or writing mock love letters to Mrs. Krabapple under a false identity, he feels terrible and tries to set things right.

I actually believe that Bart and Lisa are equally brilliant; they’re just in divergent directions. Some disagree because of “Bart the Genius,” the episode in which he’s sent to a gifted school and fails the accelerated program. Fans argue that if he was truly intelligent, he would have succeeded there. I see it differently. Bart had the potential to grasp that curriculum, but he lacked the external resources. He had never been exposed to the type of concepts and vocabulary or even the social culture that the genius kids were already immersed in. They lived in an insular world. He could have understood it if he’d had prior exposure. It’s like going into a foreign country where everyone speaks a language you don’t know. You could understand the ideas they’re expressing if the words were familiar. The ideas aren’t a barrier; the means of expressing them is. One could counter that Bart had been exposed to that type of intellectualism through Lisa, and so he was just naturally incapable. But I think he willfully ignored things Lisa could have taught him, because he associated academia with strife.

Homer is another factor limiting Bart’s ambition and instilling distrust of authority. This is, essentially, because Homer is abusive to Bart. He constantly berates him and makes him feel like a failure. He chases Bart around the house and even chokes him as punishment. Bart rebels against Homer, but also tries to impress him. He’s an abused child who longs for the approval of the parent who hurts him. Homer wants Bart to succeed at school, yet is dismissive of anything broad-minded. Bart responds by resisting Homer’s pressure to succeed, while also mimicking Homer’s scorn for intellectualism in order to relate to him. Bart adopts Homer’s resentment of authority. He additionally distrusts authority because Homer himself cannot be relied upon.

Whenever Bart and Lisa team up together, they are a remarkable force. They are counterparts, filling in each other’s weaknesses and enhancing one another’s strengths. Lisa does the analytical work, while Bart helps to organize and rile people up. He’s the charismatic agitator. Episodes that show their futures usually depict two possible paths. In both, Lisa is invariably successful. But Bart could go in one of two ways. In some scenarios, adult Bart is emotionally stunted and desperately dependent on Lisa. In others, he’s overcome his obstacles and is working alongside her, on her level. They are equally self-actualized and happy. Even though they’re fictional characters, I want so much to see him self-actualized. I want him to have the future where he’s a chief justice of the Supreme Court and looks back on his past with amusement. Lisa has her struggles, but we know she will succeed no matter what. She thrives as soon as she’s in a more stimulating environment, and even thrives without it—although with a lot of emotional turmoil. From what I’ve seen, Lisa is just as anti-establishment as Bart. The difference is that she resolves to beat the system by replacing it.

Bart and Lisa bicker a lot, but in the end, they are each other’s greatest allies. Both of them are characters who are, to a large extent, alone. Lisa doesn’t have friends. Bart has Milhouse, but Milhouse is more of a follower than a friend on equal wavelength. Lisa and Bart are really each other’s best friends—and, possibly, their only true friends at their point in life. They understand each other’s standpoints. They understand each other's pain. And, in the end, they each help the other achieve what seemed impossible on their own. They’ll never grow up on the show. But if the Simpsons universe ever seemed as real to you as it did to me, you’ve probably imagined their future lives and saw them become the best versions of themselves. They’re parallel, both when they suffer and succeed.

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I have more to say on this subject, especially relating to Homer and Marge. More will be written soon.