3.2 Protecting the hope continuum from tribal divisions
Have you ever been ghosted because you told a friend you believe in societal collapse? Have you ever been told to shut up because you have a dark view of the future? I have.
Why would someone react to me like that?
In my first years as an activist, I preached a gospel of hope, big hope, Hope with a capital H. I believed that we could save ourselves. I was convinced we could fix whatever was wrong with the environment. And whatever was wrong with us humans, too.
If someone didn’t believe in my kind of salvation hope, I didn’t want to know them…
The person I was back then would definitely not want to know the person I am now.
Why did I keep myself at a distance from nonbelievers? Because I was scared…
What if they’re contagious? What if my belief is not as strong as I think it is? What happens to me if I lose hope? Will my friends turn their backs on me? Will I be alone?
When I lost hope, I did in fact lose people. I haven’t ended up alone, but I have lost people. And I miss them, but I get it.
Hope is such a powerful force. It lifts our spirits. It keeps us going against the odds. So why would we ever want to give it up? We wouldn’t.
But the reality of the danger we’re in, the cold truth of our precarious situation, is diminishing hope day by day, taking the heart out of it. And for some of us, taking hope away entirely.
Which sets us up for a crisis in our activist relationships.
Remember, we humans are compulsively divisive. We make divisions between us and them over politics, race, religion, sports, so many things.
We can do that, too, with the issue of hope…
We can turn it tribal.
And I do not want to see that happen. I do not want to see long–term friendships fail, or working relationships fracture, or intimate partners break up because they have different views about hope.
Let me explain.
The way I see it, there are five segments on the hope continuum:
1. People who are steadfast believers.
2. People who are in and out of hope depending on the day.
3. People who are agnostic and just do their work and don’t think about hope.
4. People who believe that collapse is coming, but have a small–h hope that some reduced version of humanity might survive and even thrive. And,
5. People like me who believe we’re going to crash through collapse into extinction.
Activist work is so hard and the issues we confront are so overwhelming that we can get loaded up with distress. And what do we do with that distress? We can deal with it directly ourselves, and many of us do.
But it’s also possible, and very human of us, to take out our distress on other people. To give ourselves permission to complain about them or attack them just because they’re on the other side of a boundary, for example just because they’re in a different segment on the hope continuum.
And that’s not okay. Because, in this dark moment in human history…
We need each other like never before.
And I believe…
Our good hearts are more important than the hope segment we happen to fall into.
The last thing we need to be doing now is creating unnecessary enemies. We have more than enough real ones.
And so I wish for us, for us activists who care about the future, that…
We find a way to care about each other even more than we care about our fate.
Now let me add another perspective into this mix. In addition to looking at people in terms of the five segments, I also think of people in terms of four categories…
Passive believers
These are people who believe in hope but do no activist work. A guy I know told me he’s sure technological innovation will put a stop to climate change and save us. Since he’s not a techie, he feels fine about not engaging in any activism at all.
Proactive believers
These are people who passionately believe in hope, but the way they see it, there’s no free lunch. If you want hope to come true you have to put in the work. You have to incarnate it through your daily labor. So these folks are engaged activists.
Passive nonbelievers
A woman I know told me, “I agree it’s over for us, so I just focus on having whatever fun I can have in the time I have left.” A former activist I once admired thinks we’re doomed, but he’s slipped so far into depression that he has no fun at all, and really no life.
Proactive nonbelievers
These are people like me. I believe we don’t have a prayer, and yet I find activism to be a good way to live. The best. I’m passionate about making things better. I’m not an activist in the way I used to be when I believed in hope, but I am a dedicated post–hope activist. And I’m a much fiercer advocate for humanity now than I used to be when I was working so hard to save us.
What matters to me isn’t whether a person believes in hope or not, but whether someone is proactive. I understand those who are not, but I have a special place in my heart for those who are.
I have more in common with a proactive person who champions hope, than a passive drop–out who’s a nonbeliever.
It’s in our commitment to activism that we can find common ground.
And if those of us who are proactive are successful in dissolving the boundaries between the five segments, that means…
We’ll all get to have more allies and more friends.
PS:
Just for fun I want to include a dialogue between a believer in hope and a nonbeliever showing how very possible it is to work together despite that divide. If you’ve read my previous work, you’ve already seen it, and you can skip this a bop over to the next page. But for those of you who haven’t seen it before, here it is.
Noah is the ED of a nonprofit and Abby is looking to volunteer there…
Noah: I can’t stand it when you say you don’t believe in hope. What’s wrong with you, Abby? You’ve got to believe in hope. And if you don’t you should keep it to yourself because otherwise you’ll be a bad influence on people.
Abby: Don’t you want nonbelievers to be activists? Don’t you want us working hard to make things better?
Noah: Only hope can make things better.
Abby: We could debate the pros and cons of hope, but what if instead we take a minute and look for common ground? For example, I’m scared about the future, really, really scared. How about you?
Noah: Sure, I’m scared.
Abby: Does that count as common ground?
Noah: But we handle our fears so very differently.
Abby: We do, but let me ask you this. You believe in hope and you do everything you can to make things better, is that correct?
Noah: Yes.
Abby: I don’t believe in hope, but I do everything I can to make things better.
Noah: You really do?
Abby: Yes, I do. And which is more important to you, hope or action?
Noah: How can you have action without hope?
Abby: What if I volunteered with your organization and you got to see for yourself that someone who does not believe in hope can still be a dedicated activist? Would that be helpful to you in any way?
Noah: We need all the people we can get. Especially people with the kind of experience you’ve got.
Abby: How strong is your belief in hope?
Noah: Strong. Really strong.
Abby: It’s not like you have to talk yourself into believing in hope when you get up every morning?
Noah: No, I really believe in it. I don’t waver.
Abby: Last week I offered to volunteer at your sister organization, but the director told me she didn’t want me around. I asked her why and she said, “Because my belief in hope is shaky and you’re so clear about not believing that I couldn’t handle having you here.” I appreciated her honesty, so I honored her wishes and left. That’s why I’m coming over here to see if I can work with you. You’re the only other group in our region recruiting people to run for office.
Noah: I can handle you as long as you don’t try to evangelize me.
Abby: I’m not an evangelist. How about you?
Noah: Oh, I guess I am a bit.
Abby: How about if I promise not to evangelize you but I give you permission to evangelize me all you want?
Noah: That doesn’t seem fair.
Abby: It’s not, because you’d be wasting your breath. I’ve been a nonbeliever for many years. It goes deep for me. I really believe in it.
Noah: You believe in nonbelief?
Abby: Yes. But if you want to try to convert me, go for it. I won’t even argue back. I’ll just ask you questions.
Noah: What kind of questions?
Abby: Questions about you. Like, what does hope give you?
Noah: That’s easy. It gives me energy. It keeps me going.
Abby: When I believed in hope, it drove me hard. It burned me out. Does that ever happen with you?
Noah: Sometimes. I have to keep an eye on that.
Abby: Do you believe it’s okay for hope to drive someone so hard they have no time for their loved ones and they end up losing their family?
Noah: Oh, god, no. Nothing could make that okay.
Abby: It sounds like you have very strong feelings about this.
Noah: I do.
Abby: Me too. I hate it when activism destroys a family. That just feels so wrong. Here’s another question. Do you want hope to be real?
Noah: I already believe it is, but to answer your question, yes, I do want it to be real.
Abby: Well, I want hope to be real, too. I wish it were. It’s just that I don’t believe it is or can be. Another question. How do you feel about me not believing in hope?
Noah: I feel sad for you.
Abby: Well, I feel sad for me, too. I miss feeling hopeful. I miss the energy of it. Not believing is not an ideological thing for me. It’s personal. It’s simply who I am now. I don’t really care to engage in debates about hope. What I love is doing good work with kindred spirits. And I don’t need everyone in my life to be a nonbeliever. Not at all.
Noah: I feel sad for myself sometimes.
Abby: What makes you sad?
Noah: We work so hard and so often we lose.
Abby: Do you ever find it hard believing in hope?
Noah: Not so much believing. It’s just that some days it’s really hard to keep my spirits up.
Abby: Well, I have days when I find it hard to be a nonbeliever.
Noah: More common ground?
Abby: I think so.
Noah: Okay, come work with us. Let’s try this out.
Abby: How about if we make an agreement? If you’re ever feeling down on a particular day come find me and I’ll do everything I can to help you reclaim your hopeful spirit.
Noah: Okay, and I’ll do the same for you. Meaning I’ll help you find peace with being a nonbeliever.
Abby: I’d like that.
Noah: And if you ever decide you want to return to hope, if you want to get it back, come talk to me. I’ll be your go–to guy. I’ll put you on the fast track back into the fold.
Abby: And if you ever wake up one morning and find you’ve lost hope, really lost it, come talk with me and I’ll show you the ropes. I’ll show you how to live over here on the far side. I’ll do everything I can to make sure despair doesn’t get you.
Noah: But, hey, what about this? What if fate messes with us? What if you come back to hope but on exactly the same day I lose it?
Abby: Okay, funny guy, well then we’ll already have had this conversation, and all we need to do is reverse positions, which will save us time, and we’ll still be okay with each other. So, are we ready to get me started on my first assignment?
Noah: You bet.
