Quick decisions

Last week I went to a rally to protest a series of raids by ICE in my city. The rally turned into an unplanned march through the streets, and I had to make two quick decisions: first, whether to join the march, and second, whether to remain in the street when the police started to give warnings.

When the march started and I had to decide whether or not to join, I had the following thoughts:

  • Shit, are we going to get arrested for this?
  • There’s several hundred of us, they probably won’t arrest us.
  • But it’s illegal, so we *could* be arrested. What would happen if I did?
  • I just got arrested for civil disobedience a few weeks ago, would there be extra consequences because of that?
  • Maybe, but there’d be *less* consequences because I’m white and a woman and a citizen and all my family are citizens.
  • And they’re probably not going to arrest people anyway.
  • Okay, let’s do this.

We marched for about thirty minutes, to the location where the raids had taken place, and then we stayed in the street. At one point, the police started to give warnings, and the leaders of the protest told anyone who didn’t want to risk arrest to move to the sidewalk.

  • Okay, they really might arrest us.
  • There are still a lot of us though. And the more of us stay in the street the less likely they are to arrest any of us.  And I’m still way less vulnerable than a lot of the people here.
  • But I haven’t even told anyone I might be arrested. I have no plan for this.
  • There will be other times to risk arrest later, when I’ve had a chance to research and plan. It’s not selfish to want to be prepared.

So I got up on the sidewalk. A lot of people stayed in the street, and no one ended up getting arrested.

I do feel a little bad that I didn’t stay in the street and risk arrest, but I think it was a reasonable decision. The context changed, and my actions changed, but my values stayed the same, and I stayed consistent with them.

There’s no one set of rules that can govern all of our decisions. There’s no “right choice”, only choices that are better or worse than others, and often you don’t even know what’s better or what’s worse until everything’s over.

One of my favorite fictional characters is Chidi Anagonye from The Good Place. Chidi has severe anxiety about making morally good decisions and I identify with him so much. I mean, my job used to be to stick people inside of magnets and give them moral dilemmas, of course I identify with Chidi. But his approach to morality is unhealthy. He’s obsessed with making the right decision, when the right decision doesn’t exist. His desire to be good actually makes him do less good.

I’m not always going to make the best decision, but I can be thoughtful about the decisions I do make. There will always be room to criticize, but I can learn from self-reflection and from the feedback of others without thinking that a better person would have done something different.

Judgment Above Principle, Judgment After Principle

Principles are really important, and by and large you should try hard to stick to them.  I have tremendous respect for those who have died or gone to jail for their principles.

That said, a principle is just a rule, albeit a highly abstracted and abnormally emotional rule.  And it is important not to follow rules blindly but to consider whether they apply in a given situation.  It is rare that a principle applies in all situations for a given person (how many people truly would never kill, even in self defense?) and it is impossible for a principle to apply in all situations for all people.  So you have to use your personal judgment.

This doesn’t mean “oh, whatever, just go with your gut”.  But it does mean “I have thought deeply about this and weighed the various principles and factors involved and this is what my gut says”.  Hence the title of this post*.  “Judgment Above Principle”: aka personal judgment is more important than sticking to principles.  “Judgment After Principle”: aka personal judgment requires a thoughtful consideration of principles.  It is not a rejection of principles but a transcendence of them.

This post on Emptywheel highlights a great example of putting judgment above principle:

Marcy’s post was not primarily about the investigation into the Russian interference in the 2016 election, though that is what has gotten a lot of the attention. What she was really talking about was the practice  — or should I say “malpractice”? — of journalism. Woven into the entire post, Marcy laid out how she wrestled with a very basic question: What do you do, as a journalist, when a confidential source lies to you?

I highly recommend reading both Marcy Wheeler’s original post, Putting a Face (Mine) to the Risks Posed by GOP Games on Mueller Investigation, and Peterr’s analysis (linked above).

* The post title is also a play on a paper I was co-author on.  It’s not really relevant to this post, except as a reminder that I’ve been obsessed with morality for a while.  😉

 

Money, and the violence of lost context

It is in the very nature of a question like “What do I owe my parents?” that there is not and can never be a final, numerically answer. It is a question that we re-visit and re-negotiate every minute we are with them; obligation and love form an endless Möbius strip, through which our complex interdependence on each other makes the idea of paying off that debt – and of thereby severing the relationship – a sort of bitter joke. Precisely because it is a non-monetary “debt,” its function is to be an unpayable and unbreakable bond, one whose dividends never end and one that could and will never default.

By contrast, Graeber argues that purely monetary debts – such as the $14k I owe in student debts to a variety of banks – legitimize violence and exploitation precisely because they take an otherwise irreducibly complex human relation and reductively simplify it into a number. When you quantify a debt with financial precision – and especially when you invest paying it off with profound moral gravity, making it a fundamental moral imperative – you take what was a human relationship of mutual imbrication and co-implication into a financial one based on a kind of moral dominance, and thereby subject the indebted party to the mechanisms of financial debt collection instead of the precepts of human morality. If my relationship to my parents was a financial one, then I could pay it off and be done with them (or they could forgive the debt and be done with me). Or (and here is where it gets interesting), they could present me with a bill, demand that I pay it, and throw me in jail if I failed to do so.

This is just a thought experiment, of course, but the point of it is to bring out and make explicit that contrast. While the perversity of paying off your debts to your parents hardly needs comment – or of them garnishing your wages to pay for the hospital costs of birthing you – it is just as unspeakably normal for our debts to banks to seem, always and forever, the first thing we need to honor and respect. Graeber argues that this contrast, and our failure to register it as such, demonstrate the conceptual constriction of possibility that has come to be built into the moral landscape of our present: it is because a quantifiable debt could be paid off, with numerical precision, that it can therefore be seen as an imperative to do so, and becomes a moral failing when it is not. More than that, it becomes not only a moral failing that is enforceable and punishable, but a moral reasoning which makes the violence of that constraint your own fault, your own choice: no one forced me to take on student debt, goes the reasoning; it was my own choice. And so, the violence of debt collection is just chickens coming to roost.

Let us, then, look with new eyes at the fact that when a dictator takes out a loan from a Western bank – pledging as his surety the future revenues produced by the people who he uses men with guns to rule — we can be utterly sure that long after he is dead and gone, that debt will live on. Banks will not only claim the right to be paid back, but the moral force of the world’s political and ruling classes will assent to the proposition that children unborn when their nation went into debt will somehow still be on hold as the debt’s guarantors. This will appear normal. This will not seem a monstrous perversity.

from Aaron Bady’s review of David Graeber’s Debt: The First 500 Years