Hello to a new Gregorian calendar and courage to each of you in the pandemic loop. I'm grateful to be safe so far and wishing you the same, and joy where you can find it.
Despite the gorgeous parks of London and a tiny ward who now enjoys sea shanties, my midwinter routine is entirely too screen oriented. Thanks to my brother, I've stumbled upon a trove of old Survivor episodes. The first modern reality television show has been a satisfying diversion from the distressing plot twists of 2021 reality.
I got back into the show because it is a literal democracy in action. You'll recall the premise: 16 people from a cross section of society live sparsely in an isolated setting for 40 days. Every three days, the proto-civilization ceremonially votes someone out of the tribe.
There are now 40 seasons (I recommend the Cliff Notes sequence). The setup provokes idle speculation — which of your friends would run far, which would collapse under the strain of hunger and backstabbing, and which would be swiftly deposed? Participants are voted off for each of the seven deadly sins, or for failing to help gather firewood. And every few episodes you get to watch people wrestle nearly to the death for the right to eat a hamburger.
Yeah, it’s weird that this is where my mind has traveled, given the hard Brexit, the armed insurrection to topple democracy in my homeland, the whiplash of inauguration festivities shadowed by a winter COVID surge — itself fueled by a virus mutation born in my backyard.
I suppose what appeals beyond basic rubbernecking is Survivor’s theory of accountability. The prize, a pretax $1 million, can only be awarded to the contestant who earns a majority of votes from everyone who has been thrown out of the tribe that season. These democratic reckonings — when the expelled become the jury — promise the comeuppance theatre that late capitalism has lacked.
But alas. The justice system in Survivor proves just as fragile as the American backstop against sedition. In practice, master manipulators often win the prize. Participants know they'll need to lie and bamboozle to win; pure hearts and true leaders go home first. I’ve gasped as juries vote to crown seasonlong villains just because of “how they played the game.”
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This is my main irritation with the Capitol assault and the GameStop stock trading drama. Just when we finished processing a web-organized mob attacking elected officials, we’re processing a different web-organized mob manipulating the stock price of a failing games retailer. This headless collective action was foreseeable, and will happen again, thanks to the Internet. I mean, look at the Bernie memes. But in the aftermath, I’m still shook at how tribes coalesce around random fantasies, and defend them to the death.
I grant that these events are a product of real factors: cabin fever, mixed with accessible tools (guns/Facebook/trading apps), mixed with a nihilism I have called “corruption anxiety.” But many recent shocks — whether Q incitements or Bitcoin’s extended rally — are grounded in constructed fictions, like the fable of Robin Hood, or the Apprentice charade that resurrected Trump. Worse: in each of these situations, someone is handing out laurels to those who best “play the game.”
This is how Emmy winning TV works. All this strategic cynicism keeps us watching, and keeps me worried. Because each season, a Survivor contestant who finds a hidden totem can shield themselves from exile, overthrowing the tribal vote. (It’s like being impeached but not removed from office.) So-called immunity — from leaving the island, from the hate speech you hosted, from your cunning short position, from your badly run legacy retail business, via your presidential pardon — is suddenly the goal of the game.
In real life, playing without consequences makes justice unlikely. The instigators of the capitol siege have already slithered back under the party tarp. Shadowy fund managers gambling with other people’s pensions will be just fine (I watch Billions!). So as much as I am relieved at Trump's slow motion eviction, it does not feel like that torch has been fully extinguished. We’re stuck with Survivor’s motto: “outwit, outplay, outlast.”
Dayo
To ward off scurvy if not COVID, here is a cocktail we’re gonna call the Short Squeeze:
Equal parts:
Orange juice
Lemon juice
Lime juice
Egg white
Brandy (double it, why not)
Simple syrup to taste
And ice. Shake shake shake.
Thank you Dayo, I absolutely love your writing and this piece is crafted so deliciously well. I must apologise to my neighbours, for my repeated 'YES DAYO' exclamations throughout.
I look forward to your newsletter and the way you can draw subjects together and frame subjects in piercing new lights.