Volume 5, Issue 47: Christopher

"I represent a group of concerned citizens who are very upset."

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In the first “Saturday Night Live” after the election, “Weekend Update” co-host Michael Che joked that, now that Trump had been elected, Che was going to start listening to R. Kelly again. “Y’all gonna let a man with 34 felonies lead the free world and be the president of the United States? That’s it, I’m listening to R. Kelly again,” Che said.

The next part of the joke, I thought, was better: “I already do, but I’m gonna stop pretending I don’t.”

There has been a general sense, since the election ended, even among many people whose preferred candidate did not win, that Trump’s victory represents the symbolic end of a certain sort of thinking that has, I’d argue unfortunately, come to be known as “woke.” Che’s joke is indicative of this, the idea that, after years of having to watch what one’s said, or what one supports, Trump’s win is proof that such measures didn’t work and now don’t have to be adhered to any longer. I’m reminded of the infamous clandestinely (and illegally) taped 2021 conversation between then-ESPN broadcaster Rachel Nichols and longtime LeBron James advisor Adam Mendelsohn, in which Mendelsohn (who is white) told Nichols (who is also white) that, “I’m exhausted. Between Me Too and Black Lives Matter, I got nothing left.” Mendelsohn later apologized for his comments, saying it was, “a stupid, careless comment rooted in privilege” and “I shouldn’t have said it or even thought it … I have to continue to check my privilege and work to be a better ally,” which is exactly the sort of public-relations-speak cleanup that must be really exhausting to constantly have to do. (And certainly doesn’t sound sincere or human in any recognizable way.) That exhaustion, I suspect, is at the center of reactions like Che’s, and many others I’ve seen over the last few weeks: I’ve had to tiptoe around with everything I’ve said or even thought for several years now, and not only am I exhausted of it, it didn’t even work—it may have even made things worse. So I’m going to stop. It is particularly ironic that this is happening in the wake of Trump’s 2024 election, considering so much of this movement sprung up in the wake of his 2016 win in the first place.

That so many people initially felt compelled to act this way may speak to their personal consciences, but, as you can sort of tell from Mendelsohn’s initial comments and his follow-up statement, it was probably more about personal branding in a corporate environment that incentivized such forward-facing positioning. Mendelsohn is a public figure, but you didn’t have to be a public figure to feel compelled to watch your verbal step: In an age of social media and The Brand Called You, our feeds have become less a public expression and more a curated collection of press releases—we’re all both politicians and the media now. I always found it strange when I saw a friend of mine who was in, like, real estate, type out a carefully worded Facebook post like they were a Congressperson speaking to their constituents. Everyone acted like they were afraid they were going to get voted out of something.

This recent backlash, such as it is, does seem a direct result of years of this sort of thinking. Can I just listen to R. Kelly in peace now, please? I know he’s a monster. But the songs slap. And it has extended—I’d argue partly to Trump’s gross, relentless and apparently successful “Kamala is for they/them; President Trump is for you” anti-trans ads—to many arguing that a focus on how one speaks about underprivileged minority groups, or really about anything, isn’t just exhausting but actively harmful. People want to stop.

This argument strikes me as a personal one pretending to be a political one, so I wonder if there is value, in the short-term, of stripping the political aspect out of it—there aren’t any elections for a while, after all. I am not a politician, and I have no desire to become one. I am not crafting a message for a political campaign. I do not run a cable news channel, or work for one. I am not trying to sell anybody anything. There was no big meeting of media people this morning in which we all got together and decided what today’s agenda would be. (My extended family back home will never believe this, but these meetings do not, in fact, actually happen.) I am just a guy who communicates for a living, whose job—and, really, driving force in life—is to try to convey his thoughts and interpretation of this confusing world in writing so that this confusing world will somehow make more sense to himself and the people who are reading him. I’m just trying to figure all this stuff out.

So keep all that in mind, that this is just my personal belief and what I want to do moving forward, when I say this: I think when you strip all the political messaging out of it, and we stop thinking about The Way We Talk as some sort of signifier or indicator … it’s still good to be careful how you talk about people. It still matters. It’s part of being an evolved human being. It’s a way to just keep trying to get better. Isn’t that we’re supposed to do?

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One of the funniest episodes of the “Grierson & Leitch” podcast we’ve ever done was the one when we reviewed “The Flash.”

“The Flash” is a mostly unremarkable superhero movie—Michael Keaton’s pretty good in it, and it has a funny George Clooney cameo, but it’s too busy and chaotic and also has the same terrible CGI every superhero movie has now—but noteworthy to our discussion is that it stars Ezra Miller. Now, Ezra Miller has had all sorts of controversies, many of which were in the news when that film came out, but most relevant to our conversation at the time was that Ezra Miller uses they/them pronouns, as part of a “pointed refusal to be gendered.” Thus, when Grierson and I would refer to the lead actor in the film—as one tends to do when reviewing a movie—we would have to keep remembering to say “they” or “them” rather than “he” or “she” as we had been doing, until the last few years, our entire lives.

We were terrible at it. Terrible. The podcast is in many ways unlistenable because most of the show is us saying “he”—as we had for every Ezra Miller movie before that one—catching ourselves, correcting by saying ‘they,” then messing up again a few minutes later and repeating this whole process. We are, after all, two white dudes in our mid-40s raised in the rural Midwest, people who had thought they understood the world, and the way to speak about it, in a certain way our entire lives. Of course we were lousy in our attempts to try to change on a dime, and we failed repeatedly—embarrassing ourselves in the process. It’s actually pretty hilarious to listen to. We sound like such dopes.

But I’m glad we kept trying. And I’ll glad we’ll continue to.

The fundamental premise of “woke”-ness is, well, to be awakened, to understand something that you hadn’t before, to realize that a previous way you had been looking at the world was in some way blinded—that you were asleep to seeing something, something you now can see. Some claim this is some sort of “virus,” or affliction, or something borne of self-hatred. But I don’t see it that way. I see it as a fundamental truth of any person navigating the world: You are inherently limited by your own perspective, and the minute you close yourself off to anything outside that perspective, you stop growing as a human being—you lock yourself in place. If something I have believed for a long time is challenged, I do not believe the correct response is to pull up the drawbridges and burrow myself further inward. I need to be open to it. This does not mean I need to blindly accept it, or immediately throw away cherished lifelong values and beliefs because someone has told me I’m supposed to. It means only that: That I need to be open to it.

If we are going to communicate in a public forum, we have to accept that our words have impact outside of just our personal interpretation of them—otherwise, we’re just writing diaries. To write something it to accept that it exists for people other than just you, which means, inherently, there is an audience. If someone in that audience informs you of a perspective you otherwise had not been aware of, it’s your responsibility to reckon with that perspective. Again, it does not mean that you blindly acquiesce to it, or performatively self-flagellate. But you need to wrestle with it. You need to learn from it—one way or the other.

In the wake of these constant culture war battles, I think it is important to nail down, then, what the notion of “wokeness” is supposed to be: It’s just trying to be kind. It’s not going up to a stranger and telling them you are right and they are wrong because you have thought more about your own perspective than you have theirs. It’s not saying things just to rile people up because you can. But: It’s also not feeling this pressure to have to to perfect all the time, to adhere to some sort of outside set of rules you don’t believe in but feel like you somehow are supposed to—and also, and this is just as important, not to expect anyone else to have to be perfect all the time either. The trick is, as with everything else in life, is to try to your best. I don’t think it would have been fair for someone to look at Grierson and me struggle with nailing down pronouns on our first try and think we’re insensitive jerks. But I also don’t think it would have been fair of us to just say, “we’ve always said things this way and have no desire to change anything about what we already think about the world, and that’s your problem if you’re upset.” The goal is to find a little bit of grace, for everybody, from every angle.

Look: Things are scary out there already, and they’re going to get scarier. I’m still formulating my own strategies as a citizen, as a human, and, perhaps most of all, as a parent, to get myself and the people I care about through what is likely to be a very harrowing time. And that’s the thing I keep falling back on, the old Vonnegut line: You’ve got to be kind. Even if it’s uncomfortable. Even if it’s embarrassing. And yeah: Even if it’s exhausting.

I’m not going to get everything right. Neither are you. Neither are any of us. But the very least any of us can do is to try to think of people other than ourselves—to do our best. No one has to stop listening to R. Kelly if they don’t want to. But the importance of being kind to people, of being open to the world around you, of just trying to be mindful of who you are and the effect you have on people, didn’t become less imperative on November 5. I think it may matter more than ever.

BLUESKY

I’m one of the many people who have switched from Twitter—a social media platform I was barely using anyway—to Bluesky: If you’re a user, you can find me there at williamfleitch.bsky.social. I’m honestly pretty terrible at both platforms—I just think social media is not my inherent comfort zone—but you’re far more likely to see me post something there than anywhere else. (Except for probably Instagram, which is still right here.)

Here is a numerical breakdown of all the things I wrote this week, in order of what I believe to be their quality.

1. The Tyson-Paul Fight Was What We Deserve, The New York Times. It had been a while since I’d been in the Times, it was good to be back.

   

2. Just Let the Athletes Do Their Trump Dance in Peace, New York. We’ve got to pace ourselves, people.

3. MVPs, Ranked, MLB.com. I ranked all the MVPs!

4. Judge and Ohtani’s Spots In History, MLB.com. This was an MVP react column.

5. The 2024 National League Rookie Class Is Historic, MLB.com. I think there are multiple future Hall of Famers in there.

PODCASTS

Grierson & Leitch, we discussed “Emilia Perez,” “Red One” and “All We Imagine As Light.”

Waitin’ Since Last Saturday, we reviewed the Tennessee game and previewed the Massachusetts game.

Morning Lineup, I did Monday and Friday morning’s shows.

LONG STORY YOU SHOULD READ THIS MORNING … OF THE WEEK

“Is the $11 Billion Online Sportsbook Bubble About to Burst?” David Hill, Rolling Stone. David Hill, whose book The Vapors is terrific, does a big in-depth on the madness that is the world of sports betting.

ONGOING LETTER-WRITING PROJECT!

This is your reminder that if you write me a letter and put it in the mail, I will respond to it with a letter of my own, and send that letter right to you! It really happens! Hundreds of satisfied customers! (Got some more of these out this week, stand by.)

Write me at:

Will Leitch
P.O. Box 48
Athens GA 30603

CURRENTLY LISTENING TO

“Rise Up With Fists!!” Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins. The songs added to the playlists lately are of a certain mood.

Remember to listen to The Official Will Leitch Newsletter Spotify Playlist, featuring every song ever mentioned in this section.

Also, there is an Official The Time Has Come Spotify Playlist.

I made my final-ever appearance as Dashman—the pseudo-superhero who runs with children all day every November that I wrote at length about a couple of years ago—on Friday.

I’m hanging up my mask and cape now that I will not longer (gasp) have a child in elementary school after this year. Ran 19.3 miles with those rugrats yesterday. It has been forever an honor.

Have a great weekend, all. (And go Illini. Take out Rutgers!)

Best,
Will