Fear rarely brings out the best in others.
A short reflection from Let This Radicalize You around how we inspire others to action. Using fear as a motivator works if you want to bring out the worst in people—panic, division, reaction, hatred, violence—but it's less successful if your goal is to try and get people to work together.
Instead of fear, they suggest there are other emotions we can reach for. Emotions like admiration, nostalgia, love, sadness, excitement, or even outrage. The trick is that these require a slower, deeper form of storytelling; one that cuts against the reactive immediacy of online culture. And we probably need to explore different channels of communication to really tell these stories effectively. I think of increasing opportunities for presence and sharing, spaces where people can ask questions and explore deeper into whatever movement you're trying to build. Spaces that invite curiosity and next steps in a very human way.
“Narrative power analysis starts with the recognition that the currency of story is not necessarily truth, but rather meaning. In other words, we often believe in a story not necessarily because it is factually true; we accept a story as true because it connects with our values, or is relevant to our experiences in a way that is compelling.” — Patrick Reinsborough and Doyle Canning
I'm working on a bit of a reading and study project for myself over the next few months related to community organizing and mutual aid. I haven't fully defined the topic yet; though I have picked a handful of books. The first one I've started is Kelly Hayes and Mariame Kaba's Let This Radicalize You. I picked this up a couple years ago and never got to it. This study project gives me a good excuse.
They start with an important reminder: facts rarely move people to action. Rather, they suggest, you reach people with stories.
This isn't an earth shattering idea—it's something advertisers have known for decades. People think in stories. It's the dominant way we communicate with others. We use them to make sense of our lives. One of my favourite things I ever wrote was what began as an intro to the final writing project in my masters but became a sort of mini essay that took on its own life. It's a short exploration on how we use stories to make meaning out of things that we would otherwise struggle to put into words. It's also about Godzilla.
This is what drew me to this quote that Hayes and Kaba reference in this section I was reading. The currency of storytelling is not truth, but meaning. This is why story is stronger than facts. It speaks a deeper sort of truth, one that is true not because of an accurate description of events but because we find meaning in it.
“To try and stop war by placing before men’s eyes the terrible suffering involved will never succeed, because men are willing (in their thoughts and imaginations at least) to face any kind of suffering when motivated by noble aims like the vague and tremendous concept of freedom…” (Dorothy Day)
How do you get people to change their perspectives on social issues? According to Day, concern for the suffering of others won't do it because ideology is a stronger force than empathy. People are willing to excuse—or at least justify—a great many things in the pursuit of their so-called greater good. So what can actually bring about change?
For Day, a religious conversion is the only way. That's of course not to say that all religious people are concerned with the suffering of others, especially since so much of her time was spent trying to push the Catholic Church on these issues. But, I think Day is hitting on something important that I want to look at from two angles.
First, one way to change someone's ideology is an even stronger ideology. This is why religion can be such a powerful tool for appeal. A higher power can override our own ideals. It can work, but it doesn't always end well. Arguments around how to interpret the 'wishes' of the higher power can just create the same sort of entrenched viewpoints—and even further justify human suffering for divine good. This sort of religious appeal can also remain purely intellectual, in "thoughts and imaginations" as Day put it. This isn't always a a bad thing. I do think you can 'fake it till you make it' so-to-speak when it comes to selfless behaviour. Do good works and (hopefully) you will be changed internally as well.
But let's shift to the second angle, which is where I think Day would ultimately land in all of this. That is that real change, the sort that can be stronger than ideology, can only come from genuine encounter. For Day this means an encounter with the crucified Christ. Importantly, this is not an encounter in an intellectual sense or in some immaterial transcendent way, rather it is an encounter that only comes from seeing Christ in the suffering of others.
“Christ is being martyred today in Vietnam, in Santo Domingo, and in all places where men are taking to the sword in this world crisis. He will be crucified to the end of time. He is with us in His humanity until the end of time.”
Day lived and worked on the margins. She spent her days amongst the poor and sick. She frequently travelled and met with others struggling for justice—migrant workers, racialized communities, people whose daily lives were threatened by war and conquest. This is where she encountered Christ. And it's where she would say the Church belongs lest its ideologies remain purely in "thoughts and imaginations."
Is your conscience a good measure for doing the right thing?
This is a question that has been circling around some of the reading I've been doing lately. In a column from December, 1965, Dorothy Day reflects on the role of conscience when it comes to how one feels about participating in war. Notably, she writes that one's conscience can be wrong, or ill-formed; but you should still follow it.
“If a man truly thinks he is combating evil and striving for the good, if he truly thinks he is striving for the common good, he must follow his conscience regardless of others.”
People can have deeply set convictions on things or a passion for some sort of idealized good that they want to see in the world. I guess Day’s starting place here is that you should follow those convictions as opposed to ignoring them. However, that doesn't immediately mean that your conscience is taking you in the right direction. This is why she goes further and suggests that our conscience must be continually formed.
“But he always has the duty of forming his conscience by studying, listening, being ready to hear his opponent’s point of view.”
For our actions to be meaningful, they need to come from some deeper value or conviction; but we must keep bringing those values and convictions back to the testing ground that can only come from deeper reflection. This is the sort of thought > praxis > thought model that I remember encountering when I first read Paulo Freire many years ago. Both our convictions and our actions require ongoing formation.
That said, I believe the formation of one's conscience is a much deeper process than simply 'doing your own research.' We need something to orient ourselves, and this is my proposal for a guiding ethic (or at least an acknowledgement of my own).
My current studying has had me returning to another favourite writer and thinker of mine, William Stringfellow (who I was very close to doing a thesis on in my Masters). He writes this,
“The beginning of conscience, in a Christian sense, is realizing that every action or omission, even those which seem routine and trivial, is consequentially related to the lives of all other human beings on the face of the earth... Conscience, in other words, is knowing that people are related to, and responsible for, each other in all things." (Stringfellow, Dissenter in a Great Society)
Stringfellow is no stranger to ethics (he has a trilogy on the topic). If you're looking for a place to orient yourself—you could do worse. This idea of interconnection, that our actions have impact, is crucial to trying to understand (and solve) big problems. It forces us to confront the reality that we participate in a system and in doing so we uphold and benefit from it. I'd personally push this even further than Stringfellow does here and suggest that we are interconnected with all things, not just humans. But his point remains.
Dorothee Sölle (another favourite) expands on this, suggesting that if you want to understand your own praxis—that is, do deep reflection on your actions—it begins by asking who is being victimized and who is profiting? These two questions have been core to my own conscience formation for many years now. And while they might not always offer easy answers, they help orient me in these complicated systems of interdependence to which we are all bound. By knowing who suffers and who profits by and in these systems, we can try and better untangle the ways we knowingly—and unknowingly—participate. This knowledge should then form our actions.
So to return to Day—yes, follow your conscience, but your conscience alone is not enough. It must be formed and reformed by deep reflection on the context you are trying to live within.