On Complicity and the Sweet Poison of Simple Things
On Complicity and the Sweet Poison of Simple Things
Answer truly, if only for a moment and to yourself: how are you in the home of your body?
In the home of my body, the door can barely contain the joy pushing against it. The letters and notes I got from you, in response to the last letter, left me with flutters. And of the many things I can point out, I am most amused by the fact that: E like iranu. Ah! Kilode.
But of course, this is welcome.
I was surprised by the letters written, some said what the letter left with them was nostalgia, where for most it was desire. And even in this desire, some of you were surprised, writing that you expected something else and although I cannot speak to what your expectations were, it returns to my earlier amusement—you are into iranu.
I thought it tender that one of you offered a kiss. It’s not every day you read a letter saying, let me change your answer from 'a world', to 'moments' ago. Lovely.
In all, I am glad you wrote. It was a pleasure to read and I am grateful for all your lovely words about the words you found lovely. Thank you.
So much has happened in the past month, and since a way to answer the question of how one is, is to chronicle the times, in thinking of this month I am reminded of a poem a friend quoted to me.
They were talking about how time shifts and they quoted a fragment of Louise Gluck’s poem Adventure which reads: I was, you will understand, entering the kingdom of death, / though why this landscape was so conventional / I could not say. Here, too, the days were very long / while the years were very short. In the same way, the month was a moment, but the weeks were long and the days, much longer.
There were difficult days, but on a whole, there was joy. Such joy.
On one of those days, I was thrown into an unexpected turn of events. In a different time, those circumstances were enough for despair. But I took it with humour and was met with such kindness.
The circumstances are a different matter entirely, but that wonderful afternoon began moments after I entered a Taxify. I exchanged pleasantries and after that was a mutual silence. Then I asked the Rider if the traffic had improved and as I expected, it had worsened. After a short silence, I asked, We are going to be in each other’s company for a while. Would you like to have a conversation or would you prefer silence? I can do both.
His laughter and subsequent answer was the beginning of kindness and a very memorable afternoon.
I have always known but was further reminded of the terrible PR the name Femi or any trace of it has garnered. Although some of that PR is not unfounded, as many men bearing the name have justified the need to be avoided, there are as always, exceptions, and I think he was one.
Here is a PR image for the name Femi. You must have seen revised versions of this image at different times, in different parts of the world.
A question that was recurrent in my month is one that marks the beginning of the delightful I said what I said podcast—are you into gbegborun?
I have enjoyed so many episodes. The hosts Feyikemi Abudu and Jola Ayeye always move between such levels of humour and insight. It’s a delight. They are quite popular so I might be telling of something you already know or have long been enjoying, but I am often late to these things. And here I am again.
I have been using the word such more than usual.
Here’s a thought: The word such is often used as a determiner for emphasis, usually before a noun phrase. But imagine the word being used as a superlative or comparative, the way er and est or more and most functions with various adjectives. Imagine how much room for imagination, for possibility, this leaves.
In this light, what does it mean to say for instance, You are such a lover. A lover by comparison? A lover by the inherent standards of a lover? What are the inherent standards of a lover? What is inherent? And then the thought returns to its origin, what does this, or do things mean?
You can ask now what I meant by all this.
In the spirit of asking questions, consider a question that sounds both flirtatious and existential. I’ll begin with an example: Are you here alone?
This month, my joys also came from friends.
In the accurate description of a friend, I went mad with joy at the sight of him. I had not seen him in nearly a year, if not more.
With another, it was conversation—memorable hours spent talking about beautiful nothings before the subjects shifted into another thing of weight and another subject and another interest and another matter. Conversations that stunned me and retuned me into silence.
Remember the question: when was the last time you said something that made speech impossible? Those conversations flowed with answers.
I learned that we use the word severally in a peculiar sense. In the context of Nigerian English, the word severally as an adverb connotes the repetition of an act or a verb, while in non-Nigerian contexts, it connotes the individuality of an act.
Part of the difficulty in my days in the past month came from the week I had to spend in and out of the Nigerian Civil Service. And with all those hours squandered, much like resources looted, all I can advise is that to the extent you can, avoid the Civil Service. The reasons why is another letter entirely, but all I will leave you with is a sincere wish that you never become familiar with that level of ineptitude, with the phrases won si larand, or, won si on seat or that long stare followed by a demand to leave something for minerals or the weekend.
A friend gave me such good counsel in their words, have fun. This is important because fun or rest or at least leisure, is not an activity I used to plan as intentionally as I do others. I did not think it as essential as other activities or considerations, and I certainly did not think it was vital to my sustainability. I am working on changing this. If you’re skilled in achieving this balance. Share your tips. One tip I will share is, fix yourself a bedtime. Blow out the midnight candle and attend to work in the morning, or the other way around.
Sleep.
A poem I submitted for the Nigerian Newsdirect Poetry Prize came Third among various other beautiful poems.
In a conversation with a friend during the month, we were reminiscing on the miracle of a lost age, when we had such time. When we could—or so it seemed—do so much. We could check in with friends and loved ones nearly every day and reply messages instantly. But now, as we are ageing, it is essential to recognize, we cannot pay attention to everything.
Our productivity—whatever definition this takes personally—is tied to our priorities. It is true that we do not have time. But it is also true that for our priorities, we make time.
To return to the essence of conversations, it seems contradictory that conversations have become more important to me as I have less of them. The number could vary for you, but I have about three conversations or less a week—occasionally more. Each one is an act of love. A conversation, at that length, at that depth, with that tendency to spiral and drift; can only be an act of love. Which is to say, check in with your friends, set a time to talk at length. And if they are the kinds who would appreciate such, write to them.
I saw an image taken by a friend. The expanse of the image runs between the shades of monochrome. Light turns white then edges into grey and the absence of it settles into black. The image is cropped, the faces elsewhere—a beauty to be seen and acknowledged but remaining unidentifiable. There are hands in the image, cupping flesh with such intimacy. The image captures two bodies pressed into each other, saying see us, saying know. Then with agency, it cuts your sight short. Saying this is all you will know—the breadth of my arm, the tone of my skin, the flesh. You will know this image, but not to whom it belongs.
Is an image more beautiful or less beautiful if we do not know to whom the beauty belongs? Or does it stay the same? To alter an image in any way is to essentially change it. But to what extent, to what effect, and what does that mean?
Did I mention that school has resumed?
It is not the most exciting reality in these times, but exams are coming and if you are an undergraduate or studying for any degree, I am wishing you strength and direction as I send my love and condolences.
In the spirit of asking questions, if a neat line could be drawn and sides were made, would you rather have more answers than questions or more questions than answers?
On complicity and the sweet poison of simple things and other thoughts
XI
Consider the etymology of the word simple in the light of the categories: vice, virtue and unclear.
As a virtue, simple means: free from duplicity, upright, guileless; blameless, innocently harmless, plain, decent; friendly, sweet; clear, straightforward; easily understood, free from pride, humble, meek, single, individual; whole, modest, plain, unadorned.
As a vice, simple means: ignorant, uneducated; unsophisticated; simple-minded, foolish, naive, stupid, wretched, miserable, unqualified; mere; sheer; inadequate, insufficient; weak, feeble; mere; few; sad, downcast; mournful; of little value; low in price; impoverished, destitute;
plain, not sumptuous (in relation to food).
As both and neither (unclear), simple means: free from pride, humble, naïve, meek, clear, straightforward, easily understood, single, individual, whole, unadorned, low in price;
consisting of only one substance or ingredient (opposite of composite or compounded);
easily done (opposite of complicated)
modest, plain, unadorned (in relation to clothing)
plain, not sumptuous (in relation to food)
straight, not curly (In Middle English senses with relation to senses such as hair)
XII
With the often virtuous associations made with the word simple, how delicious is the irony that its etymology is so layered?
There are a number of directions this could take, but a number of those directions I do not know enough to speak about.
For instance, the Middle English sense of the word concerning hair has racial overtones but it is unclear how this plays out. On the one hand, it is often the case with racial stereotypes that the subject—or in other cases, object—of the stereotypes are rendered simply, in the sense that they are easily understood, consisting of only one substance or ingredient or emotional motive or reality. In this sense, it becomes a vice, because the elements of a caricature or stereotype are often exaggerated simplicities.
In a different sense, but in the same vein, it is often said of White cuisine that they are plain, not sumptuous, unseasoned. In this context too—however stereotypical or otherwise—simplicity is a vice and other delicacies are richer because of the complexity and variation in their flavours.
On the other hand, the earlier association with straight hair is a virtue and because hair texture becomes significant across racial divides, it becomes unclear if curly or nappy hair would retain that air of superiority—or if superiority ought to be assigned to any hair nature, instead of acknowledging their difference and peculiarity—for not being easily done in the same way straight White hair is, due to the standards of beauty that are slowly changing.
In another sense, would the meaning of simple as having a low price have the same air of vice outside of a capitalist context? In answering that question, consider the similarities and differences between value and price.
An apparent direction is a religious one. There is hardly any tradition as emphatic of meekness as a virtue, as the Christian religion and theology—even though there are traces of this enjoining in Islam and Buddhism as well. The kind of inheritance that awaits the meek is an easily recalled statement of Jesus. Besides the inheritance of the earth as a reward, the books of Proverbs and elsewhere is rich with the distaste the Christian God bears towards the proud. In this context, it is such a great thing to be simple, to be meek.
However, Nietzsche would disagree. Nietzsche writes of meekness as among other things, a slavish morality.
To have the moral discourse and take into recognition its various implications, can be unending.
Although I will neither agree entirely with Christian theology nor Nietzsche despite the value of their arguments, I have seen meekness and humility disintegrate in the Nigerian context. It is not entirely virtuous to remain meek because of the smallness that could and often follows, but its total absence often leads to one’s hubris and then the tragic fall to nemesis.
In the Nigerian context, the amount of pain we bear, the amount of disregard we endure and the abuse to which we forbear resistance in this land are not unconnected to how silent, how humble, how meek we are. How our smiles never falter under the weight of suffering. Yet, because of this meekness, of this humility, this forbearance we are here aren’t we? We survived. We are surviving. And what does it mean to survive pain but to outlive it?
Not so simple is it?
XIII
“This… ‘stuff’?
Oh. Okay. I see.
You think this has nothing to do with you.
You go to your closet and you select… I don't know… that lumpy blue sweater, for instance…because you're trying to tell the world that you take yourself too seriously to care about what you put on your back. But what you don't know is that that sweater is not just blue.
It's not turquoise. It's not lapis. It's actually cerulean.
And you're also blithely unaware of the fact that in 2002, Oscar de la Renta did a collection of cerulean gowns. And then I think it was Yves Saint Laurent […] who showed cerulean military jackets? […] And then cerulean quickly showed up in the collections of eight different designers. And then it, uh, filtered down through the department stores…and then trickled on down into some tragic Casual Corner…where you, no doubt, fished it out of some clearance bin.
However, that blue represents millions of dollars…and countless jobs…and it's sort of comical how you think that you've made a choice…that exempts you from the fashion industry…when, in fact…you're wearing a sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room…from a pile of stuff.”Miranda Priestly to Andrea Sachs in The Devil Wears Prada
It is true that to a great extent simplicity has its benefits. In affirming this, I return to Leonardo da Vinci who remarked simplicity is the ultimate sophistication. Yet, as it is with most ideals, there is a sense in which an embrace of simplicity can bring about disdain for anything that is but that.
In the movie The Devil Wears Prada, the character of Andrea Sachs shows this disdain to an extent. Of course, this disdain is not standalone or straightforward as other factors such as her lack of interest in that industry comes into play. Yet, there is, I believe, a danger in emphasising simplicity in everything or oversimplification. Things, concepts, realities, processes do not have to be needlessly esoteric, but neither are they always simple. One of the by-products of this zeal for oversimplification is stereotypes and tropes.
A stereotype plays out in the moments that lead up to this dialogue where fashion is viewed by the character of Andrea as pretentious and lacking in the critical substance that is present elsewhere—in her case, journalism. For this reason, I was particularly taken by the retort of Miranda, it’s sort of comical how you think that you’ve made a choice […] that exempts you from the fashion industry.
In this way, to emphasize one’s simplicity is not often as humble an act as it seems. Simplicity—often influenced by morality—can equally be wielded as a weapon, as a form of superiority, of sophistication, just as complexity can be.
Simplicity in essence is not immune to arrogance.
To return to da Vinci, it is interesting to point out the amount of time and intent he invested in his art, the versatility he embodied and how they all interplayed in the polymath he is remembered as. His remark—or better still, paradox—remains valid, but there was nothing simple about the man. Or for the lack of a better expression, the man is not remembered for his simplicity.
He was complex, and had contradicting aspects to his personality that are not easily resolved; as do we all. He was a vegetarian who was known to walk into the market to buy caged birds and set them into free flight. But this man, who would not hurt an animal, was also responsible for the invention of war machines and methods—some of which were used by Cesare Borgia. He was homosexual, yet, can easily be praised for some of the most attentively painted images of women.
How simple are all these?
XIV
“So why did I weep when Trayvon Martin was in the street
When gang-banging make me kill a nigga blacker than me?
Hypocrite!”
The Blacker the Berry by Kendrick Lamar
“[…] the African ‘mutants’ not only facilitate the work of the foreigner, but also give a new twist to the idea in order to strengthen their position thereby condemning their peoples to serve the interest of others. The transmutation of some Africans into rabid slave traders is a reminder of the fickleness of African behavioural convictions.”
A New Trait in the Gene Pool from Abimbola Lagunju’s book of essays The African in the Mirror
“Slavery had existed in Africa as it had in other parts of the world, for centuries, but it was not based on race and it did not result in dehumanization and death, as did the transatlantic slavery.”
Exhibit Statement. The Smithsonian’s African American History Museum, West African Exhibit.
Often, when I think of social structures, a thing of recurring interest to me is complicity. Beyond the criminal or moral implication of the word, I am interested in the complicity of the oppressed in their oppression: the complicity of Africans in slavery and underdevelopment, of men in destructive masculine expectations, of women in misogyny. How does this work? And to what extent?
When I was much younger, and consequently much more ignorant, I would look at say, a woman being abused by her husband and say, why can’t she just leave? Or read of the injustice faced by a black man in the criminal justice system and wonder, why did he commit any crime in the first place?
When I was younger, it was all so simple. Race and gender and class and laws and governments were natural, not invented. Ignorance was bliss; now, knowledge and its pursuit, is.
Complicity is a complex subject or as Simone de Beauvoir would put it, an ambiguous subject. In her text, The Ethics of Ambiguity, she wrote the oppressor would not be so strong if he did not have accomplices among the oppressed. To see complicity or the interactions of social structures in any light other than in multiple lights is to rid it of nuance, to perpetuate its effects.
On this ambiguous subject, where I am lacking in knowledge, I have my fascinations. I find it interesting the way systems of oppression make their moral demands from those oppressed or excluded.
With race, black men in particular—when they are not being sentenced on trumped-up charges—are often subjected to longer years or stricter punishments for whatever crime committed. There is a complication that arises where black people who are supposedly less moral beings, are also punished more for their seemingly inevitable crimes and sins.
In a distinct sense, Kendrick Lamar points the accusing finger back at himself for his complicity; for his consciousness of the violence visited on the black body and his role in perpetuating said violence; although for different motives, the consequence is the same. The black body dies.
A similar dynamic plays out in gender, where women are often held to a higher moral standard than men. And just when you think it is to the benefit of women, you begin to see how it limits women to an oversimplified definition, while absolving men, more often than not, of moral or emotional responsibility.
The woman’s sins are against her nature, while the man’s virtues are despite his nature. Be horrified and judgmental when the woman is anything but good. Be grateful and understanding when the man is anything but despicable.
XV
In thinking about complicity in racism and imperialism an interesting thought arises.
Consider for instance how migration is in part an effect of the cause of imperialism. How it seems inevitable almost, that an empire that was fuelled with expansionism at the height of its powers such as the British empire was, will experience a significant amount of migration to its shores.
It seems inevitable, that if for centuries it was the intent of a state to under-develop and stifle the capacity of its neighbours, the citizens of such states will later find themselves on the shores of the former in the search for, or in an attempt to reclaim succour, value, refuge, possibility and so on.
This thought is explored amongst many others in the poetry collection Look by Solmaz Sharif. It is a brilliant and difficult book in its emotional weight and exploration of the erasure caused by euphemisms and the violence caused by language. Outside of the book, yet within its concerns, however, this complicity is aptly phrased in this excerpt of an interview between Kaveh Akbar and Solmaz Sharif.
Solmaz Sharif: […] was this much longer exchange that I’d had with a white man while I was getting a pedicure. He was getting a pedicure across from me and asked where I was from, of course. “I’m from Westwood.” And he said, “No, the other from.” Eventually he gets to the answer he’s after: Iran. He said, “Oh, aren’t you grateful to be in this country where you can paint your toenails?” And I was like, “No, I’m not. Do you have any idea what exile means? Do you have any idea what displacement actually does to a person’s soul? And then to be in the country, the nation that caused it? And to have to show gratitude? It’s humiliating. It’s degrading, actually. […]
Kaveh Akbar: You mention absolution. I think that it’s so important for people who read this book to understand that asking you if you’re grateful to be here is a way for that guy to seek exoneration. It’s a way for him to absolve himself of the guilt of knowing that he is complicit in the sort of destruction of all—not just our country, but countries around the world like it.
XVI
At a certain time, I had an endured interest in Marilyn Monroe. I read about her and saw three of her movies at the time. I am still interested in her. Clearly.
In seeing those movies, there was an undeniable and expected sex appeal. But I was surprised to not have seen this appeal until much later in these movies. And the appeal was closely followed by a consistent performance of a lack of intelligence—a portrayal of the ‘dumb blonde’ interwoven with her position as a sex symbol.
Although I must admit, I am too distant from her time to say with any certainty—because her time undoubtedly contributed to her effect— but I did not see the appeal as immediately as I heard or read of it. In the 1959 movie Some Like It Hot, there were some of her dialogues that catered to this expectation; declaring I’m not that bright and things of the sort. In this way, although she has a memorable face, her appeal depended on her simple-mindedness.
Yet, an argument could be made, that the extent to which that impression of her lack of intelligence was maintained, is only a testament to an abundance of it. That her seeming lack of intelligence only points to her skill as an actress.
In one of her movies, she described a night as suicidally beautiful. And although there might be credit owed to the director or writer, for too many reasons, I find it unforgettable that she said that.
In many senses, she was believed to be simple; and that belief was an effect of a peculiar tendency to oversimplify women. Because of this oversimplification, it did not—and to a large extent does not—exist in the male imagination that a woman can both be beautiful and critical. Or more than any one thing. It is partly for this reason that expressions like beauty and brains are said with such praise but are really meant as relief or surprise at the exception to the rule. It is almost as if, physical beauty is the price paid for substance—as the vessel that sits in the museum is beautiful and beautiful and nothing else. This rationale flows into other expressions associated with women such as trophy; then into the idea of either/or, the strict duality that denies the possibility of fullness, of growth outside of a certain lens.
It often saddens me to think how lonely she must have felt. How confused her husbands must have been after marrying an image only to wake up years later next to a woman.
Where the ones viewed through stereotypical lenses are aware of that view and take agency, victory is still a nuanced distant thing; yet one must ask the question—who is simple here, the woman/race/person performing simplicity or the audience who believes the performance?
XVII
There is a type of fallacy in arguments born out of oversimplification. This is also known as the fallacy of the single cause or the causation fallacies.
“The causation fallacies known as oversimplification and exaggeration—also called the fallacy of reduction or multiplication—occur when the series of actual causes for an event is reduced or multiplied to the point where there is no longer a genuine, causal connection between the alleged causes and the actual effect. In other words, multiple causes are reduced to just one or a few (oversimplification) or a couple of causes are multiplied into many (exaggeration).
Also known as the "reductive fallacy" because it involves reducing the number of causes, oversimplification seems to occur more often, perhaps because there are so many ostensibly good reasons for simplifying things. Well-intentioned writers and speakers can fall into the trap of oversimplification if they are not careful.”
Austin Cline
XVIII
In thinking of the statement, Well-intentioned writers and speakers can fall into the trap of oversimplification if they are not careful. I remind myself to be careful and trust that where I am not, I’ll get a letter pointing out my error.
I also remember a well-intentioned figure who fell into this trap.
Want to guess who?
The figure is Mahatma Gandhi and the letter pointing out his error was written by Martin Buber.
XIV
“My dear Mahatma Gandhi,
He who is unhappy lends a deaf ear when idle tongues discuss his fate among themselves. But when a voice that he has long known and honoured, a great voice and an earnest one, pierces the vain clamour and calls him by name, he is all attention. Here is a voice, he thinks, that can but give good counsel and genuine comfort, for he who speaks knows what suffering is; he knows that the sufferer is more in need of comfort than of counsel; and he has both the wisdom to counsel rightly and that simple union of faith and love which alone is the open sesame to true comforting. But what he hears - containing though it does elements of a noble and most praiseworthy conception, such as he expects from this speaker - is yet barren of all application to his peculiar circumstances. These words are in truth not applicable to him at all. They are inspired by most praiseworthy general principles, but the listener is aware that the speaker has cast not a single glance at the situation of him whom he is addressing, that he neither sees him nor knows him and the straits under which he labours.”
Excerpt of Martin Buber’s Open Letter to Mahatma Gandhi Regarding Palestine
February 24, 1939
Poet’s Dictionary
Name [noun] / [verb]
\ neɪm \
Definitions of name
1a : [paraphrased] after what is done there.
Example: In the beginning we didn’t understand the bullet. It had no head, no arms or legs—: Menamentk we said. It crossed the water. We named it ‘Anya kwa’oorny. We named it Of the Sun. We had no word for shore, except how water touches land.
They gave us the word shore for their bullet to arrive on. Then said our flesh was also Shore—: so we called the bullet Bullet.
Etymology: English word name; from excerpts of Natalie Diaz’s poem Duned.
Readings
I know I have told you of Eloghosa Osunde but consider this repetition the lingering of her effect.
She has a brilliantly curated column on the Paris Review, titled Melting Clocks, which is two essays long at the moment. Enjoy reading her essays Reality Is Plasticine and Oh, Heaven and her short story There is Love at Home.
Enjoy.
Playlist
This is somewhere where I will again repeat myself, since I have been re-listening to FKA twigs’ MAGDALENE almost exclusively.
Regardless, enjoy listening to Solange’s Losing you and Beltway, Sabrina Claudio’s Hurt people and Come here, Billie Eilish’s i love you and idontwannabeyouanymore, Lorde’s Writer in the Dark, and Lana Del Ray’s Old money and FKA twigs’ Mirrored heart.
I wish you a blissful month. I hope to read from you soon.
Love,
Ọbáfẹ́mi