The Struggle is Still Real

Humans are assholes. There, I've said it. 261 years ago, Jean-Jacques Rousseau called out the same inequality of opportunity that still exists today. The intervening period, wherein apparently nothing has changed for the underclass, has seen the introduction of electric energy, the internal-combustion engine, telecommunications, space exploration, the industrialization of the world, and – oh yeah – the entire existence of the United States of America.

Whether we are born with it or whether we acquire it, people are terribly focused on their own status. Social status, economic status, sexual status, moral status... any means by which we may project our power over our fellow man is important to us. Though France had ostensibly banned overt slavery in the early 14^th Century, the institution of human ownership persisted both institutionally and in practice in 1754. Human slavery was then and is today – in the form of sweatshops, forced labor, bondage, and coercion – an expression of physical and economic power over an underclass. Rousseau wrote, “Even less can one inquire[...] if the power of the body or the mind, and wisdom or virtue, are always found in the same individuals in proportion to their power or wealth : this is a good question, perhaps, in a debate among slaves within earshot of their masters, but it is not fitting for free men of reason who are engaged in a quest for truth.” He wrote this from Switzerland, where orphan children were regularly bonded to farmers and tradespeople upon the deaths of their parents. It seems to be a bitter jab at those who exert power not just for their own survival, but for the sake of increasing their estimation in the eyes of others. The suggestion seems to be that slaves could make their own lives easier by passively assuring their masters of the masters' inherent, unquestionable position of power over their human property.

Today, that Uncle Tom-esque reassurance may be provided in the developed world by one's peers rather than by one's perceived underlings. We reassure ourselves of our dominance by speaking in dialects of prestige and by telling one another how superior we are because we place apostrophes in the accepted places and because we avoid metathesis when “asking” a question. Whether White Western males today or a Rwandan Tutsi with four cows circa 1993, many people imagine ourselves as subject to the divine right of kings because we are born into a position of power over someone. Rousseau writes of the “excess of idleness” and the “excessively exotic dishes” that define the lives of the rich and the “excess of work” and the want of food that the poor live by. Though the developed states of the world have made some marginally-effective moves towards assuring food for the hungry, the easy lives of the ruling class of oligarchs remain a common theme as they have since agriculture led our forebears to put down literal and figurative roots and to establish a social order.

In concluding the first part of his Discourse on Inequality, Rousseau compares the rich – represented by a giant – with the poor – represented by a dwarf. He points out that, “If a giant and a dwarf travel the same road, every step they take will give the giant an added advantage.” However, the original problématique that he would have asked had he been a student at Sciences Po is, “Are giants born as giants and dwarves born as dwarves?” The conclusion would of course be that no, all people are born naked and screaming, covered in amniotic fluid and unable to form advanced thought. Giants become giants because they are well-fed and because they are constantly reminded that they will grow up to be giants. Dwarves become dwarves because they rely on government cheese for sustenance and are constantly faced with the reality of their lack of opportunity.

The excesses which define the lives of the rich and the poor seem to be irrational. Why would a comfortable person take so much more than they needed when their fellow man toils endlessly only to go hungry? Well, it seems that Rousseau originated the stag hunt game to explain this, two centuries before John Nash became a figurative giant of game theory. While a giant and a dwarf might be able to devise a cunning and mutually-beneficial plan to capture a stag that would easily feed both of them, the remote possibility that the dwarf might defect leads the giant to use his artificially superior arm's length to snatch a hare that passes just past the dwarf's reach and to then defect on the stag hunt. The giant is so scared of the dwarf putting a tiny dent in the giant's enormous advantage that he settles for a lesser reward so that the dwarf remains hungry and desperately subservient.

So, here we are... students at an elite university in the capitol of one of the only two states of the world that possess a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier... giants, every single one of us. Every moment that we are converting oxygen to carbon dioxide we make a decision to take a giant step forward, putting the billions of dwarves of the world that much further behind us. There is no one here who is unaware of their privilege, so the question is: will your next step forward be taken alone, or will you use your might to help the dwarves of the world catch that tasty stag?