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| Rep. Dan Crenshaw Getty Images, found here |
I read his book, Fortitude, last summer. So the
concepts aren’t new. But applied here to the current woke culture I think is
valuable.
He refers to the clash between “victimhood” and “victorhood”
as possibly the most profound of our time. Victorhood is not a word in
the dictionary, but it’s understandable enough; it’s about being a winner. You
can’t be a winner—come out victorious—if you see yourself as victimized and
give yourself an excuse for not doing better than you’re doing.
Crenshaw says,
This divide is perhaps the most important cultural battle
facing modern America, personified by those who proudly overcome adversity
versus those who seek recognition for their victimhood. Empowerment versus
disempowerment. Hope versus despair. Fortitude versus fragility.
You might also call this a clash between blame and
responsibility.
Because, he says, “A stronger America is a more prosperous America, and we can only accomplish that if we become stronger Americans,” it’s worth looking at how we change this negative narrative. He suggests,
How do we get better? The answer lies in better storytelling.
When a bad thing happens —and they certainly do happen—we tell ourselves a
story about it. The story shouldn’t be about changing the facts of the event or
downplaying the severity of true trauma. It should be about changing our
interpretation of it. We can tell ourselves a story of despair and self-pity,
from which we may never recover, or we can tell ourselves a story of overcoming
hardship and being stronger for it. The outcomes of each of these opposing
paths are obvious. For me, one path would have sent me on permanent disability
collection. The other path sent me to Congress.
Bad stuff does happen. It happened to him. A strong person,
a person with fortitude, doesn’t go through life saying, “If only such and such
hadn’t happened to me, I’d be a different and more successful person.” A person
with fortitude works to overcome adversity, figuring things out along the way,
and then can say, “I didn’t let those things stand in my way. Maybe I’m even more
successful because overcoming those things made me stronger than I would have
been.”
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| Quote attributed to Anonymous, Matthew McConaughey, Raunak Narula, and others. Image found here. |
Warner says this “feeling stuck” we may sense is “experiencing
other people or circumstances as having more power over our own happiness than
we do.” That seems to me the same thing Dan Crenshaw is talking about. We want
to regain our own power over what we experience in life. But in most of the
book, the emphasis is on how to reframe what you’re experiencing—with the
intention of actually seeing the truth rather than a distortion you’re making
up because you’re centered on yourself.
Despite that part of the book I don’t agree with, in the
body of the book Warner differentiates between being a victim—for which we are
not responsible, such as being mugged or falling ill or actually being discriminated
against—and portraying ourselves as a victim. As he says, “acting and feeling victimized
does not make a person a real victim.” And if it’s a matter of frame of mind,
that’s something you can change. That’s the good news.
Warner suggests stepping back and looking at who your focus
is on—yourself or others. If it’s on ourself, we’re not seeing truth; we’re
seeing a distortion. We are in an untruthful, distorted state when we are:
·
Accusing others,
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Excusing ourselves, or
·
Displaying ourselves as a victim (p. 59).
I remember when the country was first getting acquainted
with Dan Crenshaw (after we Texans voted him in, so we already knew him), it
surrounded his interaction with SNL actor Pete Davidson, who said derogatory
things about him. Dan wasn’t concerned. As he said, he’s had bullets shot at
him, and he’s been blown up; words thrown at him aren’t worth noticing. He only
responded when he saw an opportunity to stand up for the military. He wasn’t a
victim; he was a victor.
Even when you are actually victimized, there’s a point at
which being a victim ends; you don’t have to live your life acting out the part
of the victim. You can recover and get on with the business of living.
What if you don’t know how to recover? That’s where a deep
dive into this book, or Crenshaw’s book, might be helpful. And maybe some
counseling. But it’s really an attitude shift. Warner says, “The general
principle is this: One person can give offense only if the other will take
offense” (p. 98). Later on the same page he refers to those who choose to take
offense:
We use words like touchy, thin-skinned, and hypersensitive to
describe such people. Sometimes I have thought of them as missile-seeking
targets.
Much of the effort at attitude change come in letting go of
self-absorption. It is seeing self at the exclusion of the other person—dehumanizing
them. If you accept someone as the human they are at a given time, flaws and
all, then those offenses can get shrugged off. I’ve read that bullies often don’t
know they are bullies; they think they are defending themselves from being
bullied or taken advantage of. If you can see yourself in a position of
strength, willing to help another human, then their offenses look different. You
may still get injured, but you don’t get victimized.
I’m looking at this “woke culture” “social justice warrior”
situation that Dan Crenshaw is referencing. It seems to me that what needs to
change—and what he’s recommending—is that those who feel offended just stop it.
I see it as a problem for them to fix in themselves.
That, according to Warner, is me in the way of the problem;
I’m blaming. Hmm. I’ll want to fix that.
I can only deal with me and my attitude. So, I recognize
that there are humans suffering—some of them suffering actual hurt, some of
them suffering only what they’ve invented—and isn’t that sad for them. I don’t
want them to be stuck in anger, resentment, and self-pity. There are happier
ways to live.
What can I do? Recognize their humanity, while also speaking
out against a culture that encourages their weakness rather than their
overcoming adversity. If we truly care about them, we want for them a culture
than increases their fortitude.
So, we need to find more truth and say it. Don’t smash them
with it; offer it for them to take or leave. But let them know life is already
happier for people who don’t do what they’re doing. As Crenshaw says in his
book,
[Y]ou’ll never see a happy (or funny) social justice warrior:
A system that falsely promises the end of suffering also strips individuals of
the capacity to deal with it (p. 240).
It isn’t compassionate to censor words they’ve decided are offensive. It isn’t compassionate to coddle, mollify, and infantilize. Maybe we should try treating them like adults, so maybe they can live up to that.
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| Candace Owens with her new baby image found here |
Candace Owens wrote a piece for British media comparing her life situation to that of Meghan Markle, who gave an interview
with Oprah a couple of weeks ago, trying to elicit sympathy for how hard life has
been for her because the British royal family is so racist; apparently someone
wondered what the royal son would look like. Owens is an American black (not
half-black and indiscernible like Meghan Markle, but fully black) and also married
to a white Englishman. In Owens’ case, she married the son of a Lord rather
than a prince. Owens gave birth to a son in January. She says this about the
question of her son’s color:
I cannot tell you how many times I was asked that question
while I was pregnant with my son last year.
It came from not only my sisters, who are fully black and
darker than I am, but also from my husband and from me as we day-dreamed about
what our beautiful boy would look like. ‘What colour do think his eyes will
be?’ we’d enquire aloud. ‘Will his hair be darker or lighter?’
If it needs spelling out, no, I am not a racist black
American, nor is the man who happened to marry me a racist Englishman.
Instead, we are parents, as my sisters were future-aunts,
beyond excited to imagine who our bi-racial, multicultural child would look
like.
So hearing Meghan Markle frame the questions about her son’s
skin colour—however innocently intended—as racist ‘concern’ rather than
harmless imagination made my skin crawl.
If you have seen a picture of Archie and you believe that he
was ever the victim of anti-black racism, then I am a stranded Nigerian prince
who needs you to send him your bank account details straight away.
She talks about that difference in attitude:
How is it that despite the British press having spent years
covering my political commentary, and with at times deeply critical and
mean-spirited attacks against my character, I have never interpreted such
criticism as evidence of Britain’s inherent racism?
Maybe it’s because, through the school of hard knocks, I’ve
come to accept that not every person is going to like me. I’m also perceptive
enough to conclude that branding every person who dislikes me a racist might be
the quickest way to ensure that I really am disliked.
Meghan does not seem to have worked through this equation
just yet.
The difference in attitude is a choice. And Candace Owens
has made the better one. I think Owens is a happier person than Meghan Markle. It’s
not the color of skin that matters; it’s the toughness of skin. Owens has
learned not to let herself be a victim. That’s admirable. Crying that being a
princess is just too hard—that’s not admirable. If living a fairy-tale life
leaves you miserable, you’re not living right.
As musician Zuby put it in a tweet:
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| Tweet passed along by Buck Sexton on |
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