March thoughts

I once enrolled in a free online course about the art of presenting. I remember only three tips: craft your presentation around a core message, place each slide’s key point in the title, and limit lists to 3 items since people tend to only ever remember 3 things.

Last week, again, a guest lecturer in my systems mapping course taught our class that good work, whether it be an essay or a PowerPoint, should be engineered to make a message stick. We’ve all heard this advice in various forms: tell a story; simplify your message to its core; know your audience; build a structure. I’ve tried to follow such advice in my latest blog posts. Whether it be to make a case, explain a concept, or share an experience, I tend to write with a clear goal.

Yet, must this always be the case? In 1913, Marcel Proust published the first volume of his now famous novel À la recherche du temps perdu. Instead of the traditional plot-driven narrative, his novel reads as a collection of thoughts—some say it has no ‘story.’ Of course, this doesn’t necessarily mean it was written without purpose. In fact, many authors later adopted a similar style to spread their own messages. The plotless medium itself granted them more power of expression. So, did Proust merely dump his thoughts onto paper, serendipitously finding an international audience of readers? Or did he purposefully choose his plotless style to craft a message hidden within innocuous thoughts? Perhaps, the distinction is irrelevant since, in death-of-the-author fashion, each reader finds their own meaning anyways.

In any case, my friend Angela’s recent blog posts have reminded me that “journal entries”—or exploratory writing as I like to think of it—can make for delightful reads. So today, I hope to reflect on a mishmash of my latest thoughts.

For starters, I finally finished the book Who Gets Believed? When the Truth Isn’t Enough by Dina Nayeri, an Iranian refugee turned into a Harvard-educated McKinsey consultant before becoming an award-winning author. I stumbled upon the book last fall while browsing the gift shop in New York’s Tenement Museum. The bold and emboldened title caught my attention and I’ve since been delighted with my impromptu purchase.

Many great things have been said about her book, yet what struck me most was her articulate exposure of how unfair—or dare I say evil—our world is. For example, she writes of the story of “KV,” a refugee with severe burn scars who was denied asylum in the UK under the pretense that his scars were self-inflicted rather than the result of torture. It was only on appeal to the UK’s Supreme Court that KV’s story was finally believed. She writes:

“Long after KV’s final court case, I sat in a London legal office and talked to his laywer, Arun, a careful but forthcoming man who, over many years, has grown close to KV. When KV joined us, I was struck by his ease. Physical detail spilled out of him, a tendency of trauma survivors who are remembering, rather than inventing. KV talked about his grandmother’s busy mornings, about her food, the physical process of melting gold. As he spoke, his lawyer watched my face, as if to say, You see? Everyone involved knew this man was honest. That he was treated like a liar and a criminal was a matter of policy, not credibility.” — p. 265

Page after page, I was captivated by unembellished descriptions like these. I found it surprisingly comforting to browse the inner thoughts of an author who reasoned as analytically and coldly as me, yet still managed to see the world ethically and compassionately. Perhaps my friend Adele was right to criticize one of my previous unpublished blog posts where I essentially argued that logic was a tool for apathy.

Inspiring too was Dina Nayeri’s disdain for the system in which she grew and profited. She does not speak highly of her time at McKinsey where faked expertise and overconfidence were the services being sold. Of the upper-class she frequents, she bluntly writes: “one upper-class signal hasn’t changed, because strivers can’t mimic it: coldness to those burdened by need, a trait they consider an evolutionary failure of the lower classes.” Despite having worked and lived ‘within the system,’ she never stops questioning it ferociously. “Why do we still let them do it? Why do we bicker about meritocracies and gatekeeping and who deserves which passport, and still allow the children of colonialists to carry insider-ness around with them from country to country?” How does she do this? How does she maintain such fervent convictions while avoiding indoctrination by the system that formed her?

I wish I knew because lately, I’ve felt my convictions erode.

Earlier this month I was invited to Mexico City to part take in celebrations. The startup I work for had reached a huge milestone and was throwing a well-deserved party (truly, the entire team had been working so hard).

I, only being an ex-intern working part-time, was flattered to be invited and offered a free flight. Yet, could I justify emitting half-a-ton of CO₂ in just a week—more than what most people in low-income countries emit in an entire year? Back in 2020, when 1.5°C might still have been a plausible goal, half-a-ton of CO₂ would have used up a quarter of my year’s “fair emissions.”

Somehow, none of my friends or family shared these reservations. When I raised my concerns, my friends helped me rationalize the trip. Later, after I had decided to go, they thought it was so epic I had the guts to “just skip a week of school.” My dad, at my return, complimented me for making a smart career decision, it’s good to show your face and signal you’re still part of the team. To be honest, I too felt satisfied with my decision. I had convinced myself the trip was an opportunity to spend time with friends abroad I otherwise couldn’t see, while helping me achieve some of my yearly resolutions like speaking more Spanish. Not to mention, it was lovely to see my colleagues in-person after over a year.

Still, what now should I make of Tosh Sherkat, the climber who resigned from Team Canada to reject the high-emission lifestyle required of competitive climbing. Was this move that once inspired me, actually a foolish and self-limiting decision fuelled by attitudes of doomerism or worse yet, a perverse desire to virtue signal? Or, had Tosh made the only ethical decision, bravely abandoning the sport that defined him, while I selfishly flew across countries to attend a party?

To my consolation, the conversations I had in Mexico City inadvertently convinced the startup’s founders to shift their business strategy towards one with a better climate impact. I had effectively ‘offset’ my trip. Or had I? When does this ‘net’ zero and “offsetting” stop? Surely my brother is mistaken in saying that effective altruism is the culmination of morality, that one can offset morally dubious ‘funding’ strategies by “buying happiness” for the world’s poor.

Apologies for the anxious whinny thoughts. Perhaps it’s time for me to accept that part of growing up, part of shedding my naivety, is the decay of idealistic principles into pragmatic compromises. I suppose I just need some time to grieve.