There is a common admonition that often circulates on social media, especially among leftists, that goes something like: You don’t have to ask what you would’ve done during the Holocaust, or any other historical atrocity. You're doing it right now. These words are valuable in that they encourage us to abandon fantasies of who we would have been in another context, and to live our values here and now.
As an organizer, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the gulf between what many people believed they would do in moments of extremity, and what they are actually doing now, as fascism rises, the genocide in Palestine continues, and climate chaos threatens the survival of living beings around the world. Some of these disparities can be chalked up to the simple truth that people often are not who they imagine themselves to be. This truth reminds me of the lyrics of Joe Henry’s “Our Song,” in which Henry refers to the vicarious thrill we derive from watching movies:
We push in line at the picture show /
For cool air and a chance to see /
A vision of ourselves portrayed as /
Younger and braver and humble and free. /
Fantasies about who we would have been—and what we would have done—in moments of profound injustice serve a similar purpose. They allow us to imagine braver, more purposeful versions of ourselves. But when we’re confronted with the reality of catastrophic injustice in the world around us, we are forced to measure those fantasies against reality. The results can be profoundly depressing. Many people have discovered that they have more in common with those who witnessed atrocity and simply went about their lives, perhaps uttering words like, "That’s a shame," or complaining that someone should do something.
In the rhythm and rhyme of history, we all have historical counterparts. Contemplating who those people are—and how we might judge their actions in parallel with our own—can be daunting, or even devastating.
However, it’s important to remember that such measurements are not fixed. Our lives, our character, our part in history—all of these things are the product of choices we make on a continuous basis. Each day, we make decisions about how to move in the world and how to relate to others. We choose what to extend to others, and what to hold in reserve, in order to sustain ourselves and our loved ones.
It’s easy to pass judgment on ourselves and each other for what we’re “already doing” or failing to do. But as an organizer, I’m concerned with what might motivate or allow people to act differently. After all, the people whose actions we have admired during historical moments of resistance, rebellion, and rescue were not simply born into heroic collective action. Many of them witnessed harm and wickedness for years, or even decades, before something moved or enabled them to participate in constructive moral action. Some were slow to join the struggles they eventually helped to enliven. Some were afraid. Some initially supported moderate, reserved actions. Some were complicit until, one day, they could bear their complicity no more. Others didn’t believe change was possible until they were recruited into strategic projects. Many were moved to action by profound loss or the threat of profound loss. They had to find their way, just as many of us must now find our way through this moment.
So what’s holding us back?
just a nightmarish headline. get these two the fuck out of here