Speak again the ancient oaths: Trauma, recovery, and the Stormlight Archive

"It is the nature of the magic. A broken soul has cracks into which something else can be fit. Surgebindings, the powers of creation themselves; they can brace a broken soul, but they can also widen its fissures." - from the back cover of Words of Radiance, second book of Brandon Sanderson's Stormlight Archive

Brandon Sanderson is known widely for works of epic fantasy with well-explored, almost scientific systems of magic. His Stormlight Archive, doesn't break the formula, but it does bend it with Surgebinding, a highly personal and human system that grants characters powers based on their personalities and ideals.

Using magic to literalize a character's other traits as a form of power is a common trope in fantasy, and I'm a big fan of it. It allows the writer to present the supernatural in an insightful and deeply human way, turning what might otherwise be a flashy action sequence into commentary on its characters without being any less thrilling. It's a good technique, and I've seen it done well in a lot of works.

Even by those standards, the magic of the Stormlight Archive is something special. Only characters who've undergone exceptional trauma and started on the path to recovery can become Surgebinders, and the exact form that their recovery takes determines what powers they gain.

In other words, Surgebinding literalizes recovery from trauma. That's more than good technique on Sanderson's part. That's wisdom.

As Surgebinders recover and grow, their powers increase; if they slide backward, or stop growing, or grow into something harmful to those around them, their powers fade or even vanish. Recovery isn't an event, it's a process, and it never takes the same form for two different people. One may cope and advance by finding strength in oaths and loyalty, another in exploring the nature of truth and lies.

Nobody is ever the same person they were before trauma; to survive it we must to change and adapt, and continue changing and adapting. Trauma hunts us down out of the past, tries to pull us back, break us again, and to fight it we develop, discover, and grow into something new. That we've been hurt is no excuse to stop growing. People change, or they die.

Life before death.

Growth is risky. Change is risky. Even if this new form is what we need, it may be toxic, something stifling, or even dangerous to those around us. Recovery is power. That we've gone through hell to gain that power is no excuse for abusing it. It's our responsibility to ensure that we develop in a way that protects and nurtures those around us, that the power we gain from recovery lifts up those around us instead of strangling them. And that takes a kind of power of its own.

Strength before weakness.

Recovery isn't an event; it's a process, and a struggle, and though we might be past our darkest moments, that struggle is hard. And it doesn't end. We keep changing, we keep growing, we keep advancing, though there's no goal in sight, no end to that work. That we can't see the end of our path, that we will never truly grow past our trauma, is no excuse to stop growing. All we can do is be the best we can, and keep moving.

Journey before destination.

As humans have the drive, the imperative, the responsibility to grow, to recover from our trauma and to ensure that our growth shapes us into a form that helps those around us. Sanderson is wise to recognize that, and genius to present it like this.

The price of standing up

Last Thursday, I attended my first protest.

You might have heard about it on the news, when several thousand people marched from Union Square to Times Square to protest the police brutality in Ferguson.

Organized by word of mouth and social media, the protest was described as a silent vigil in Union Square. At 7:00 it got of to a confused start: whatever it was, the event wasn't a silent vigil, and the moderately-sized crowd didn't quite seem to know what to do with itself. Most talked and milled around, some stood silently, and a few activists, mostly black, chanted: Hands up, don't shoot and No justice, no peace. I didn't join in; I'm white, and I wasn't sure it was my place. The feeling seemed pretty common among the white attendees; while we definitely wanted to support the activists, we weren't quite sure how to do it.

Then crowd shifted: someone had started moving, and the rest moved to follow. They spread out and sped up, and the activists led their chants like a conductor leads an orchestra, raising them, using their footsteps like a metronome.

For thirty blocks we marched like that, right through traffic down the middle of Broadway all the way to Times Square. We held our arms up until they were sore and shouted until our throats hurt. The white supporters gradually figured out what to do, and started to lead chants when the black activists grew tired.

And people joined.

A lot of people.

Just around dusk, right in the middle of Times Square, next to the bright blue NYPD station, the march ground to a halt.

Turns out the police had blocked us. After about ten few minutes they let us move again, funneling us up to the northern part of Times Square...

...where they blocked us again.

With the march stopped, the chants became quieter. The black activists tried to keep them alive; a few of the white supporters helped out. (I joined in as best I could, but my throat was raw.) But without the movement of marching, the energy wasn't there.





About twenty minutes later, the police let us go, under a few conditions. We had to walk in a narrow line on the sidewalk, head south out of Times Square, then go west. The activists warned that this was a tactic to split us apart; we had to stick together. And we followed them westward, toward Port Authority, the police at our side every step of the way. We walked right down the center of the street, hands up, screaming, then turned a corner...

...right into a wall of police vans.

Once we were bottled up against their blockade, they surrounded us...

...pushed us together, and backed us up against the sidewalk.

Ten minutes later, they hadn't made any indication they intended to let us move. In the crowd, people started passing out a phone number: the National Lawyers' Guild. "Write it on your arm," they said. "If the cops take us in, they'll take everything you have."



I felt exhilarated. I was doing something important! We were making noise, forcing people to pay attention to our outrage with the behavior of the our police. This meant something, and I was proud to be part of it.

Then I looked around.

The black men and women around me were definitely excited, but not exhilarated. They made jokes at the police, they chanted, but they were not exhilarated. You don't feel exhilarated with your life on the line. You feel terrified.

Unlike me, they had something to lose here.

That was the main difference between the white protesters (myself included) and the black ones. For the white protesters, tearing down this vicious and brutal system that supports these racist, overarmed, hyperaggressive police was an important cause, and we were proud to do our part. But what did we have to lose if things went bad? We were white. The police wouldn't really hurt us. We'd get a few bruises, a night in the precinct, a reprimand at most.

For the black protesters, this this was their lives. And to try and raise their head, to stand up and force America to acknowledge them as more than animals, they risked beatings, jail time, and death at the hands of the police. And they still stood up. And more than that, they led others to stand with them.

The police kept us penned in at the side of the street for about half an hour. Toward the end of it, they started making what seemed like random arrests. All were black men. At that point a white protester in the crowd suggested that we provoke the police into arresting us illegally so we could sue.

Nobody said anything to him. The scorn was enough.

It's easy to think of supporting the unprivileged as a game when you have nothing to lose from doing it. White people, straight people, cisgendered men - people like me - who want to do their part have to remember that. Privilege is about not having to worry about things have other people afraid for their lives. When we stand up for those less privileged, we always risk less than they do. Remember that.

Respect that. Respect their wishes. Stand with them when they need you, and support them when they want to stand alone.

The city ain't a single block: the problem of place in Legend of Korra S1

Look. I know the first season of Avatar: The Legend of Korra was kind of a train wreck. This is old news. A slew of pacing problems compounded with a perfectly misplaced love triangle, and the result was an incoherent mess that didn't address its own central theme of class-based oppression and retribution. That's old news, but it's still there, like a scab that never quite got clean.

So let's pick at it.

Avatar: The Last Airbender was, among other things, a show about travel. Every episode had us in a different part of the world, with new and magnificent sights to see and explore, and that wonder of exploration suffused the show right until the end. A new episode of Avatar promised to take us somewhere fresh and new, or later on, to return to an old, familiar place changed by war.

The first few episodes of Legend of Korra seemed to follow up on that promise. The first few episodes introduce us to Republic City, a booming industrial metropolis dripping with 1880s New York nostalgia. Though everything was much closer together than before, the feeling was the same. There were places to explore! People to meet! Adventures to be had!

And then it stopped.

There were still adventures going on, still new people to meet, but what had happened to that sense of wonder? Why did it suddenly feel like the city was just one big sandbox where one little building might as well be any other?

Because the show started treating it like that.

In real life, large cities are not monoliths. From neighborhood to neighborhood, block to block, architecture varies, income varies, culture varies. In its own way a city is as diverse as the wilderness of the original Avatar, just more compact. And, more to the point of Korra's central conflict, stratified by class.

By flattening out Republic City, making one neighborhood the same as the next, the first season of Korra fails to depict the unstable and stratified society on which its conflict rests. It's not the show's biggest fault, but with it comes the loss of that sense of exploration and wonder I miss so much from the original Avatar.

Just how bad is the Hobby Lobby decision? Let me count the ways...

In case you missed it, the Supreme Court of the United States of America just ruled that corporations have the right to dictate their employees' healthcare.

Under this ruling, corporations may claim that a medical procedure violates their religious beliefs and deny coverage for that sole reason. While I could go down the line and explain every reason why this ruling is cruel, abhorrent, idiotic, flings open the gates on a dozen slippery slopes, and invites an era of legislative chaos that would ripple through our legal, medical, and economic systems...

No. I'm going to explain them. You've probably seen every argument I present floating around the Internet in some form or another, many of them in a form more thorough, well-argued, and well-supported than I present here. I'm taking the other route. 

I'm going for quantity. 

There's nothing quite like that moment of horror as you see the sheer volume of reasons this ruling is terrible. Nothing quite like the sick feeling moments later as you realize the fractal nature of this case, that each reason encapsulates a hundred other problems that all stink just as badly as the whole.

So sit down and let me tell you how many ways this ruling is terrible.

To start, every single justice who ruled in favor of Hobby Lobby's "right" to not pay its female employees' healthcare costs is a man. This isn't quite as bad as the all-male Congressional panel on abortion of 2012, but it's representative of the same systemic problem. Americans have taken note of the Court's intransigence, and public confidence in it has sunk.

Hobby Lobby displays a history of raging hypocrisy on this case. While they refuse to cover any sort of reproductive care for women, they gladly pay for Viagra and vasectomies. Neither of these have any biological necessity, unlike women's reproductive care. The overall implication is that Hobby Lobby and the Supreme Court believe that men's pleasure trumps women's medical needs.

Also, Hobby Lobby is heavily invested in pharmaceutical companies which manufacture contraceptives, which undercuts the chain's claim to a sincere, principled belief that birth control is wrong. According to Hobby Lobby, contraception is wrong, unless it makes money for Hobby Lobby.

Also, it sources many of its goods from China, where forced abortions still happen.

As for the current Supreme Court? Well, the gentlemen who currently warm that bench have written a long and storied history of ignoring petty things like "science" or "evidence" if it would force them to ponder that things such as poverty or discrimination might exist. 

In the mind of this Court, we live in a world of Platonic ideals where worldly evidence need not tread. Arguments which appear plausible within the scope of the Court's white, male, wealthy, geriatric standard of scrutiny fly. Those which don't fall, evidence be damned. No amount of statistics and analysis and experts will ever stack up to the Court's casual observations of fields it doesn't understand, which is why it concluded that the Voting Rights Act is obsolete.

One of those fields, of course, is medicine, where the Court apparently believes employers should have control over its employees' treatments. While this ruling technically doesn't mean employers can dictate what their employees can and can't do with their bodies, due to the lethally high cost of healthcare in the United States, that is the precise result.

What happens if a female employee, denied coverage for contraceptives, can still afford them? Simple: she buys them out of pocket with money from her paycheck. In effect, the corporation is still paying for those contraceptives; it's just through a paycheck instead of an insurance plan. How can an employer dictate what employees can and can't do with one aspect of their compensation, but not another? Employment is not a sponsorship; once pay and benefits are disbursed, an employer has zero say over what the employee does with them. Except...now it does.

But fear not! Justice Alito, writing for the majority, reassures us that the government could just pick up the slack for employers who prefer not to pay for contraception. But then, what's to stop employers forcing taxpayers to subsidize benefits it doesn't care to provide? Would we have to subsidize religious employers who feel that women should be paid less than men? It's a distinct possibility.

Speaking of healthcare, let's talk about abortion. Let's talk about what it isn't. Hobby Lobby's case rested on the belief that contraceptives such as Plan B and IUDs cause abortion, which has this awkward detail of being completely false. Contraceptives are not abortion. Period. They only inhibit conception, just like the name says they do.

Not that the Supreme Court would bother itself with something as silly as verifiable medical fact. In its ruling, the Court concluded that it should privilege Hobby Lobby's false belief that contraceptives cause abortion over the FDA's fact-based definition when deciding the case. There's no real difference between claiming that contraceptives cause abortion and claiming that Tylenol does; both are false. But under this decision, "religious freedom" means you can define anything however you choose if you cover your ears and shout loudly enough.

By letting corporations use religious beliefs to claim exemptions from reality, we grant them a blank check to do whatever they want as long as they wrap it in a veneer of piety. This is quite the dilemma: either the Court can cede that it has given corporations implicit permission to do pretty much anything, or it can pick and choose which religious exemptions are valid and which aren't...which violates the Establishment Clause of the First Amendment.

If employers can dictate employees' healthcare under the banner of "freedom of religion", what is to stop them from using that same banner to dictate other behavior as well? As a Jew, could I ban my employees from eating pork? Could a Mormon boss say his employees can't drink? And these are mundane examples; Justice Ginsburg points out some far worse, and more plausible, scenarios. Under this ruling, a corporation could potentially could use its freedom of religion as a mandate to exclude its employees from any type of behavior, on or off the job.

And it's already begun.

The Court must have realized on some level the judicial chaos their ruling would cause, because it added  a few provisions to limit the decision's scope. The problem? Those limitations were little more than an afterthought, and their slapdash wording causes problems of its own.

First, the majority specified that its ruling only applies to closely held (not publicly traded) companies, but were really vague about their reasons for distinguishing the two. Weak reasoning like this leaves cracks in the ruling that a clever plaintiff could use to secure religious exemptions for publicly traded corporations as well.

Second, the Court claims that this ruling does not affect any medical treatments beyond contraception because...it doesn't. Alito doesn't actually provide a reason. He just wants you to take his word for it. And if your Christian Scientist boss refuses to cover your kidney transplant...well, good luck.

Those paltry limitations do little limit this ruling's scope. Beyond the judicial chaos the complexity of this ruling will cause, its sheer impact is vast. Closely-held corporations account for 90% of incorporated U.S. companies, and some of them are huge. What the Supreme Court describes as a narrow ruling is not in fact narrow at all.

EDIT: In fact, the Court has already backed off from those shaky claims of narrowness.

Alito's decision to limit the ruling to closely-held corporations is troubling not just for its content but its inconsistency: it implies that some, but not all, corporations are legally people, depending on certain criteria. This precedent could quite plausibly circle back on the definition of what a "person" is, and makes me dread the day when we decide that some, but not all, humans are legally people. Depending on certain criteria.

It's time to talk about one of the stickiest topics of this whole, sticky mess: the ascendant, toxic idea of corporate personhood. How can a corporation have religion? Does it attend church on Sundays? Does it pray? As an entity convened for the express purpose of profit, we have to assume that profit is always a corporation's Priority One. A corporation is a selfish beast by nature. I won't say that's right or wrong, but it's certainly not religious. For a corporation to claim favorable treatment for its "sincere religious belief" smacks of a really underhanded way to serve its Priority One.

The entire point of incorporation, a centerpiece of capitalism, is to separate person from power. This allows for a personal life separate from work, and also liberalizes capitalist societies in comparison with feudal ones. Under capitalism, the elites have power; under feudalism, the elites are power. If power and person are one, social mobility is unthinkable.

In the Hobby Lobby decision, the Supreme Court has granted that for-profit company, can be said to hold the religious beliefs of those who control it. They have in principle allowed that a corporation, a power structure, may merge with the individuals who control it.

They have in principle allowed a return to feudalism.

That scares me.

The Blind Artisan

A few weeks ago I read The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. LeGuin, often listed as one of the genre's masterpieces its innovative treatment of several deep themes. It draws its title from its exploration of inner light and darkness, the known and the unknown, and proposes that we most accept both. That idea spoke to me.

As a writer, I am limited: I rarely comprehend my own writing, at least not in full. I can be the doer or I can be the thinker, but not both at once. I just don’t have the mental resources to view what I write as what it truly is: both the sum of the parts and the parts themselves, simultaneously. If I try, I get overwhelmed, blinded, and so to create I must limit my vision.

For me, writing is much like putting on a welder’s mask. The welder’s tool, the arc, could blind the welder in a second, so the welder wears a mask that blocks out all but the brightest light. The mask lets the welder see the details right next to the arc, but nothing farther away. In order to see the work in full, the welder must to flip the mask up, step back, and plan.

                                                   

So like the welder, I fumble. I poke and scrape in the dark. I focus on details, I feel them weave together under my hand without fully understanding them, and every once in awhile I pull back and examine what I’ve done. Often I shake my head and put the mask back on, sometimes I nod my head at a solid day’s work, and on occasion I impress myself.

It’s important that I plan ahead, but not too far ahead. Too much light can blind, after all: too great an understanding stifles the creative impulse, because when you already know everything, why bother creating more? That’s not to say planning isn’t important. A welder who works on and on without flipping up the mask, stepping back, and looking creates a very hot mess, figuratively and literally. It’s important to alternate: putting on the mask to work, taking off the mask to plan, weaving together the two roles in a way that works for you.

When you create, understand that you can never understand what you do. Not in full. And learn to accept it.

What a princess does

I recently accepted a job teaching young kids science at a summer camp. The camp focuses on getting the kids to want to learn, inspiring them to be excited about learning and to inquire about the world around them. On my first day, we took the kids to the park so they could examine different leaves and make observations, and they dove right into it. They were talking about wanting to be scientists when they grew up. They wanted to learn and discover, and the sheer wonder with which they plunged into it amazed me.

But one girl, though she enjoyed learning, wanted something else. "I want to be a princess," she said.

I didn't say anything. It was my first day there, and I was still feeling my way around. Like the kids, I was learning as I went. I looked to the senior teacher for a response.

"What does a princess do?" asked the senior teacher.

"Magic!" she said.

"What kind of magic?"

"Elsa!" With a bit of prodding, she clarified: she had just seen Frozen, thought Princess Elsa's ice magic was cool as heck, and wanted to find practical uses for it. Like building ice castles.

Though we were outside, my jaw hit the proverbial floor. American media teaches girls they should be princesses: elegant and beautiful and above all passive, static, a walking image, not a person. But here was a girl, only three years old, who saw it differently, who wanted to be a princess, not because of what a princess is, but because of what she does.

Though it wasn't perfect, I really loved Frozen, and I could spend hours talking about it. But I won't, not here, because in one word, that girl spoke more truth about it than I've seen in pages and pages of excited, academic, but adult discussion.

Frozen teaches girls that they can, and should, do things. That they can run, and build, and create, and change the world.

And that's cool as heck.

Dressing with purpose

"Dress for the job you want, not the job you have," it’s said.

Overall, it's sound advice. If you don't know how to look, overdressing is always safer than underdressing. But that begs the question: why don’t you know how to look?

After all, this is the age of the Internet. Pretty much anything you might want to know can be found at the touch of the button. If you’re reading this, you’ve officially lost any excuse for not knowing how to dress at any event you might find yourself at.

“Business casual? That’s a bit vague.” Look it up. “Black tie? What’s that?” Look it up. Yes, yes, you could play it safe and overdress, but that carries the risk of coming across as arch and aristocratic, and putting off everyone around you. Instead, I recommend a conscious effort to understand the role your outfit plays.

I recommend dressing with purpose.

Consider this: clothing is a tool, just like a hammer or a cooking pot, and like any tool it serves a specific purpose…but only if you know what you’re doing. Some clothing is built with physical needs in mind: sportswear are designed for comfort and durability, cold weather clothing is designed to keep you warm, and so on. That’s important, but it’s not what I’m talking about.

Beyond the physical level, the purpose of clothing is to create a certain impression of yourself, a specific impact that affects not only how others think of you, but how you think of yourself. Uniforms, the clearest example of outfits with a specific purpose, proclaim that the wearer is acting in a specific role, and subtly nudge their behavior in that direction. Suits are a bit less specific in their meaning, but also convey a clear message about the type of image their wearer wants to project. Otherwise, individual pieces can be mixed and matched to create an outfit that sends exactly the message you want and makes you feel exactly how you want.

I’m not going to go into further detail about which pieces cultivate which impressions; entire books can, and have, been written on the subject. For anyone interested in traditional menswear, Alan Flusser’s Dressing the Man is a fairly comprehensive and accessible guide on the subject. (Unfortunately, I know of no such guide for women’s clothing. If you know of one, please tell me!)

One final note: it’s paramount that you feel comfortable in the outfit you wear. However snazzy it might look on a mannequin, if you don’t feel right wearing it, it won’t look good. Maybe that outfit needs one last thing to finish it, maybe you’ve overdone it, or maybe it’s just not your thing. Develop a feeling for it, and figure out what works best for you.

So, what is dressing with purpose? First: understanding what kind of impression you want to make. Second: finding clothing that creates that impression. Third: making sure it feels right!