Kumbaya
In defense of unrealistic optimism.
I spent every afternoon of seventh grade learning the choreography to Britney Spears’ 2000 VMA performance. It was her medley of “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” and “Oops! … I Did It Again,” the one where she stripped down to a bejeweled, skincolored body suit. I had this fantasy that one day someone at my new school would be like “hey, would anyone happen to be able to perform Britney Spears’ VMA medley for us?” and I’d coyly raise my hand and go “um… I could” and then I would perform it, beat-for-beat, full bejeweled body suit, and all my fellow classmates would cheer and then, in unison, they’d all decide that, actually, they did think I was cool.
More on that in a bit.
Now, a hard pivot.
Earlier this week I was following the coverage of Charlie Kirk’s memorial service. I was struck by two quotes from two people at two very different levels of power.
The first was from an anonymous attendee, interviewed before the ceremony began.
“So at this point, there is no changing [the left’s] minds. There is no kumbaya anymore. You’re over there. We’re over here. You stand for that. We stand for this.”
The second was from a speech delivered by one of the service’s prominent guests, J.D. Vance.
“I think [Kirk] would encourage me to be honest, that evil still walks among us. Not to ignore it for the sake of a fake kumbaya moment, but to address it head-on and honestly as the sickness that it is.”
That these two echoed each other’s anti-kumbaya sentiments maybe shouldn’t be too surprising. No matter how different their positions of power may be, they are, after all, both members of a political party that is devastatingly good at coalescing around a common goal.
What struck me is how familiar this all sounds.
I remember well when being anti-kumbaya was our thing. When, in the wake of Trump’s first presidency, many on the left rallied behind the notion that the time for “getting over our differences” and “coming together” was over. The right, the argument went, didn’t care about us so we shouldn’t care about them.
Now it seems that the only kumbaya moment we’ll ever have is upon agreeing that we are both anti-kumbaya.
Cancel me, but… that feels… sad???
Ok hold on, hold on, hold on. Don’t cancel me yet.
Unity is not a reality. I know this. Kindness is not a political strategy. The Agree-To-Disagree™ approach provides only momentary comfort and it too often glosses over the plight of the most oppressed. Calls for civility ignore the fact that it is, in fact, incivility that has historically led to real advancement in civil rights.
Yes to all of the above. And also…
Unity is a fantasy. But it is, to me at least, a useful fantasy.
Warm notions of coming together, cozy talk of bridge-building, and utopic visions of kindness provide a sort of goal. And while it is responsible to acknowledge the impossibility of this goal—to point out the many, many real obstacles we face on our way to achieving it—even the idea of its existence nurses a seed of optimism within me that allows me to carry on to the next day.
No one ever asked me to perform the Britney Spears medley from the 2000 VMAs. And of course they didn’t. That was an impossible fantasy that could only be hatched in the delusional mind of a lonely middle schooler. But the hope that someone might ask me was a useful fantasy that got me through the first half of a brutal year. Plus, by learning the choreography beat for beat, I was able to borrow the confidence of a pop princess in her prime at a time when I had none.
Unity, civility, bridge-building, and, yes, kumbaya sentiments, might just be the choreography to a performance we’ll never get to see through, the delusional simulation of a functioning democracy we may never have. But in times like these, is it really so bad to at least try learning the steps?
P.S. It’s worth noting that while the term “kumbaya” has come to be synonymous with cheesy calls for unity, it was originally a hymn from Gullah Geechie culture. It was a plea to God to come to the side of those most in need. You can read more about it here.
I love you, Dylan. And I love two things about this post. But first......
I was on a date recently, and they were adamant about being an atheist. They were equally adamant that they believed in quantum physics. They designed public ride-sharing systems, and believed in civil engineering that served the community. I suggested that they weren't an atheist because their life practices clearly show that they believed that, on some level, we're all connected. I suggested that what they actually resisted was organized religion. Obviously. Religion doesn't own connection.
Your post feels the same. Your writing practice is full of connection and empathy for the other. You can feel the humanity in other people and you write so beautifully about it. You write that Unity isn't reality. And I'd like to suggest that Unity is the only reality. Your whole book is a reflection of this. You are able to connect with Josh or whoever in all those beautiful chapters because you can locate the sameness in anyone. I feel like that is example of "somewhere we're all vibrating on the same plane."
I am hella woo woo. Always have been. And reading your book and posts always tickles me in my woowiest I-Think-We-Can-Make-It squishy spots. I know it's cool to Trash Talk Kumbaya. And I know that the internet hates eartnestness (you taught me that). But the fact that you invoked Gullah Geechee and their sacred language at the end of the post moves me too. This group of stolen africans and their descendants managed to hold on to pieces of their orginal selves despite being stuck in the worst situation ever. And they believed in unity. My presence (descended from stolen people from south carolina) in the world suggests that despite the fuckery, we survive and we thrive.
Don't give up on us. I see you. And you are a unifier. You do believe in unity. You practice it. You write about it. You are it.
OK, blah blah, I love you, bye.
I definitely try to be compassionate with my past self for having delulu fantasies (but it can be hard with fantasies from teenagehood 😆). I agree that they help us get through difficult times, and also show us an idealised version of what we want, even if we end up getting it in a different, more realistic form. And that it applies to more serious topics like politics and how to function as a society