ZEHAO.LOG
Essay

When Hope Fades, Action Begins

Strictly speaking, this piece is not "original."

Parts of it are a direct translation of an essay called Beyond Hope from orionmagazine.org. But I have reshuffled the original author's content, order, and arguments, and folded in a lot of my own thinking along the way.

I have put the link to the source in the references at the bottom. You can click through to read it.

Losing hope is a good thing.

You have surely heard the story of Pandora's box. Pandora received a sealed box from the gods and was warned never to open it. But curiosity got the better of her, and she opened it, and out flew disaster, plague, and grief. Terrified, she slammed the lid shut, and only one thing was left inside: hope.

In that story, hope is humanity's one consolation in the middle of catastrophe. It is the reason we can grit our teeth and hold on through enormous suffering.

What strikes me is that the story says nothing at all about action. It never mentions that we might have to do something real to lessen or undo the misfortunes of our lives.

The more I sit with the idea of hope, the more it looks to me like a curse. A curse that keeps us from getting started. It belongs right where it was, sealed inside Pandora's box alongside disaster, plague, and grief.


Hope is our excuse to stand still and do nothing.

When we say we hope for some outcome, what we really mean is that we have given up on anything we could actually do.

I hope the world gets better. I hope there is no more violence or war. I hope the forests, the oceans, and the sky are protected. I hope for equality across gender and race.

What that means is that the world is still getting worse. Violence and war are still here. The environment is still being wrecked. The harm and the threat that grow out of gender and racial inequality are still loose on this earth.

It also means I do not want to lift a finger to change any of it, because some innocent fantasy still tells me things will turn around on their own.

I picture different cultures suddenly understanding one another, so there is no more war and no more harm. I picture everyone on the planet waking up as a feminist and a cosmopolitan, so nobody throws an insult or a punch over someone else's gender or skin.

But if you ask me how this fantasy actually comes true, all I can do is wave my hand and say I have no idea.

My fantasy is that the normal I live inside changes all by itself, for no reason I can name. Maybe the structure behind a structural problem just fixes itself overnight. Maybe everyone is suddenly "reprogrammed" into cultured, well read, peace loving, violence hating people. Maybe some new technology appears and solves in one stroke the thing that has plagued us for ages. Or maybe it is the deus ex machina: a mad genius, a charismatic world leader, a messiah, Santa Claus, an alien from the Three-Body world, showing up out of nowhere and miraculously saving us from our misery.

This false hope binds us tightly to the normal. And the normal is exactly stubbornness and indifference itself. We do nothing beyond keeping our small worldly lives running, naively expecting things to improve by themselves.

I would not say I hope to have food tomorrow, because tomorrow I simply will have food.

But I do hope my plane does not crash when I fly, and I do hope the bus I am riding does not lose control.

Hope and helplessness are the same thing. The moment I hope for some result, I have surrendered my own agency. I have given up every real effort to change the way things are.


The line environmentalists say most often is this:

"We're done for."

Do you really think that all our online appeals, all our pleas to stop clearing forests, stop poisoning oceans, stop poaching rare species, will actually keep those things from happening?

If we win the argument against these people, if we get behind the right legislation, will everything be fine?

Nonsense. Things will not be fine, and they are getting worse.

I often feel there is something despairing about environmentalists. They struggle and shout in despair. They reach for every legal tool they can lay hands on to try to protect nature, even when every one of those tools turns out, in the end, to be useless. Whatever they do, their very best is not enough.

They do not even mind becoming the target of everyone's anger. They do not mind looking hysterical, unreasonable, aggressive. They do not mind the accusations and the abuse raining down on them.


You will notice that public opinion online tends to despise certain people.

In environmentalism, she is Greta Thunberg, the Swedish girl who stood at the UN Climate Action Summit and cried out, voice shaking, "How dare you!"

In matters of race, they are the Black Lives Matter protesters who took to the streets with signs, hurled Molotov cocktails at everything in sight, and climbed the walls into the White House.

In labor disputes, they are the ones organizing marches and strikes, swearing they will hang every last capitalist.

In gender, they are the so called "radical feminists."

In LGBTQ+, they are the ones draped in rainbow flags, shouting "Love is love" on every street corner.

Doesn't it strike you as strange? The things they stand for are things almost everyone actually supports.

Very few people will say they are against protecting the environment, against racial equality, against labor law, against gender equality. Some may genuinely be against LGBTQ+ rights, but even that crowd keeps shrinking.

So why do we feel this pull to dislike them? Not because we disagree with what they are doing, but because we cannot understand why they are so extreme.

Sometimes we decide they have lost their minds. We struggle to explain why they are so aggressive, so combative, so unwilling to settle down.

So we cook up reasons for them: "foreign forces, cultural invasion, vested interests, either stupid or evil."

A human being is a creature that needs reasons. We need to give ourselves reasons, and we need reasons to make sense of what other people are doing.

When we look at the activists shouting fiercely online, we know they are educated, rational people. They are not mentally ill, and they are not bored troublemakers who love a good fire. So we cannot fit their rage and their wildness into anything we already understand.

That is why, when someone says these activists are just in it for themselves, when someone points out how they apply "double standards" and contradict themselves, we feel a small wave of relief. Oh, so they really are either stupid or evil. Got it, got it.


But the truth may be simpler than that. They have just lost hope.

Because they have lost hope, they know that if they do not do something themselves, nothing will get better.

At that point the social problem stops being "society's problem" and becomes, truly, "my problem."

If I hold out hope, I figure I only have to wait and things will sort themselves out. Someone will come along and fix it.

But if I have no hope left, I get restless. I feel a fear that reaches into the bone. I start shouting, running from door to door to spread the word.

A few days ago I listened to an episode of the podcast On the Media. The host and the guest were talking about mass shootings in the United States.

The episode worked through gun violence and gun policy in a clear, accessible way, with thorough analysis and some fresh thinking about the role the media plays in these events.

But the thing that moved me most was the title:

"Again and Again and Again and Again (and Again)"

A mass shooting does not happen once. It happens once, and again, and again, and again.

The previous episode was called "Again and Again," and it too was about mass shootings.

In the few short days between episodes, another shooting happened. More than one, in fact.

We didn't do new interviews, because honestly, we'd already said everything, and then it happened again.

Even through a screen, I could feel the despair behind that title.

We investigate and analyze. We cry out. We lobby the government. Our theory is just about perfect by now. We have done everything. We have nothing left to say. And the thing we are fighting to stop keeps happening.

Not once, but again and again and again and again.


Something wonderful happens when you give up hope: you realize you never needed it in the first place. You realize that letting it go did not kill you.

It does not even make you less effective. If anything it makes you more effective, because you stop relying on someone or something else to solve your problem. You simply start solving it yourself, whatever it costs.

I often say that when we face a social issue, we need a sense that it is happening to us, personally.

Lu Xun once wrote: the endless distances, the countless people, all of them have something to do with me.

Real harm and real suffering are happening in the world. We are the bystanders, the perpetrators, and the victims, all at once.

We cannot just stand there watching it happen and hoping it gets better. Someone always has to do something real.

When I look at a social issue and reduce it to a matter of government and the economy, there is a subtext hiding underneath:

Economic growth and cracking down on crime are the country's job, the government's job, the police's job. What does any of it have to do with a nobody like me?

Which also means I am still holding on to hope. I figure that under the current normal, I do not have to do anything, and the problem will be solved.


So the real question is this: under the current normal, will the problem actually be solved? Can we wait patiently until the day it is?

There is no objective answer to either question. People know different facts, carry different identities and histories, and so they answer differently.

Those who say "yes" still have hope, so naturally they go quiet and content about their own small duties, waiting for the problem to dissolve on its own once society develops far enough.

Those who say "no" have lost hope, so they start to act. They roll up their sleeves and tackle the problem themselves, defending and fighting at any cost.

The fights over social issues online are usually not contests of "right versus wrong." They are contests of "hope versus no hope."

The only question that matters is this: do we just maintain the normal, or do we have to change it before the problem can be solved?

"In my eyes, the two opposing positions are not equals. 'No hope' matters far, far more than 'hope.'"

A society cannot possibly be made up entirely of people without hope

Because it simply could never happen.

A society of nothing but the hopeless is impossible. If enough people lose hope, real action begins. Either the problem actually gets solved, or solving it gets put on the agenda. Either way, some people start to hope again.

And if even that cannot solve the problem, then I suppose the sun has exploded, or an asteroid has hit the earth, or a godlike alien civilization has invaded. If we ever ran into a disaster so vast that the combined strength of all humanity could not fix it, we would just have to accept that the society is finished.

(There may have been cases like this in human history, primitive tribes with no power to resist the arrival of modern civilization. But that is clearly outside what we are discussing here, and not a problem that arises in modern society.)

A society must not be made up entirely of people with hope

Because that would get the society wiped out.

For an individual, hope is what causes procrastination. It is precisely because I have hope that I keep waiting, expecting some ideal version of myself to show up in the future and finish my work. Scale that up to the group and the society, and collective hope becomes collective procrastination. But no social issue can be put off forever. If we shrug at the destruction of the environment, shrug at the gap between rich and poor and the inequality between men and women, then BOOM, the tension erupts into uprising, protest, revolution.

A society survives as a kind of organism because it can sense and solve the problems that matter to it most fundamentally. A society that cannot do this gets weeded out by natural selection, whether by invasion from outside or revolution from within. In the societies that survive, the members deemed "important" are the ones who, to a greater or lesser degree, carry out that function of sensing and solving the fundamentally important problems. We call them "the elite."

A society gets weeded out either because it is too dull to sense its problems or because it is too feeble and hesitant to solve them. And there is a frightening case in between: the members who can actually sense and solve the fundamentally important problems are not regarded as important members, so their voices go unheard. This is usually called elite displacement, where the true elite never reach the social standing of the elite.

Žižek put it this way about Greta Thunberg: "I support this movement. Greta's stubbornness and her refusal to be polite are themselves part of the message she is trying to send."

We need some people to stand up and keep telling us, over and over, that we have to act, that we have to change, because only then do the problems get solved and the society move forward.


Once we actually have some power to solve a problem, we no longer need hope. We only need to act.

We no longer hope the giant panda survives.

We make sure the giant panda survives.

We no longer hope for world peace.

We make sure of world peace.

We no longer hope for gender equality.

We make sure of gender equality.

We stop hoping for help from outside. And once we stop hoping the bad situation will somehow right itself, we are finally free to do what we can.

"When hope fades, action begins."


References

[1] Beyond Hope by Derrick Jensen

[2] Beyond Hope | A Strange Journey Through Life 49 by Weichen

[3] Fundamental Questions of Behavioral Social Science by Wang Dingding