The Transformation Trap

Photo by Shunya Koide on Unsplash

The world is shit. Every post I’ve read lately opens with that. Heck, every conversation I’ve had eventually lands here. And I get why. There are wars at a rate unprecedented since before WWII, floods and famine ravage vast areas of the globe, and there’s a worrying trend towards authoritarianism, as if we learned nothing from history. The sheer magnitude of these problems can lead anyone to despair and apathy. What can one person do in the face of such huge issues?

Psychological research, and particularly the Identity-Based Motivation framework, tells us that we are motivated to act when the distance between our current self and our ideal or ought self falls within the Goldilocks zone: just right. Too little distance between who we currently are and who we want to be, and we have no reason to change. But when the gap between who we want to be and who we currently are feels unbridgeable, we tend to sink into despair. If I think I should be able to run a marathon twice a year, but I get winded when I climb a flight of stairs, it feels like no amount of working out would get me where I want to be, so why bother?

When I read the news, I see people protesting the world’s horrors. I see Extinction Rebellion activists getting arrested. I see pro-Palestine activists getting arrested. These news stories paint activists as radical: people who get arrested, who have devoted their lives to a cause. We can agree or disagree with their cause, think they’re crazy or brave. But crucially: they’re not us. They’re not regular people.

Let’s say, for example, that I read a story in the news about the dire situation of libraries in the UK. Not as dramatic as book bans, but still, a danger for democratic societies. Let’s say I think this is an important issue, and I want to learn more. A link in the news story takes me to a film about Librarians coming under attack in the US. Watching the trailer, the message is clear: speak up at your own peril. This is only a cause to get involved in if you’re willing to give up your life. Even if you don’t intend to, it would take over your life. From motivation to despair in three clicks.

The transformation narrative paralyses us. Besides setting an impossible bar, it’s also untrue. Protests, marches, and Librarians who testify in Congress are the visible tip of an iceberg of people who work in the field, and those who took five minutes out of their day to make a choice that works towards, rather than against, their chosen cause. The protesters who are getting arrested have a role. The people who support them, who organise other protests, who fund lawyers to defend these activists in court—those people all have their roles too. These are social issues, and no single person can solve them. We have to work together, as a society. We each have a role to play.

Part of living within the system of capitalism is that we all have bills to pay and we need to get to work, make dinner, fold the laundry. We don’t have time for extensive overhauls of our lives, even if we wanted to make them. The idea that activism necessitates complete devotion denies the reality that we are all more than one thing. Activism is a continuum. We can make meaningful choices along this continuum without ceasing to be parents, friends, humans. This is not a new insight: Rebecca Solnit pointed out that protests are the tip of the organising iceberg. If we want this idea neatly phrased, we need look no further than the poet Amanda Gorman, who wrote that change is made of choices. The transformation narrative and the despair it breeds give us permission to do nothing, because we can’t do everything.

Being an activist doesn’t require becoming a different person. The transformation narrative tells us we must be radically transformed, or we shouldn’t bother. But that’s the lie that keeps us passive. If we worry about our local library losing funds, there’s a role for us in addressing it—from where we are, with what we have, today. For some people, that’s signing up online to show the library has community support. For others, it’s donating books they’ve finished reading, booking the space for their next meeting, or offering time or money. All of these actions matter. The question isn’t whether we’re doing enough. It’s what we’re willing to do next.