Roxane Gay on the Open Letter
Once upon a time, it is often suggested, people with starkly different viewpoints were able to convene and compromise and find hallowed common ground. This all happened in a “better time,” one invoked in fraught political discussions in which the discourse is not happening in exactly the way the invoker prefers. If only we could get back to that place, we could solve all our problems. We could overcome our differences. We could create lasting change.
It’s easy to look upon the past with rose-colored glasses, to assume that whatever compromises people were once able to make came easily to well-mannered gentlemen and perhaps a few gentlewomen engaged in debates. Our assumption that the past was more civil is such a beautiful lie, one that serves only the people so desperately willing to believe it.
Open letters are not new; they have served as rhetorical tools for at least two centuries, from Émile Zola’s “J’accuse” to the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s “Letter From Birmingham Jail.” As a means of personal empowerment, they allow people to use their voices, to advocate causes for which they hold affinity, to bring attention to important social issues, to express outrage, to defend decisions, to chastise ignorance, to affirm humanity. Open letters are persuasive arguments, but they are also entreaties. Please, hear me, the writers of open letters implore. Please act. Please change. Please.
I am not a fan of open letters, though I recognize their value. I’ve signed a few over the years because doing so felt urgent and necessary. But once the letter was released, I felt a little lost and had no idea where to put the energy of the letter and its pleas. The open letter, as a genre is, in this way, far too limited. We speak with conviction, and then what?
We need not have solutions to every issue we bring attention to, but the constant volley of open letters does not really address the problems with which they are concerned. In some cases, these letters only encourage audiences to become even more attached to their convictions. If, in the best case, an open letter really influences people to change their minds, where do they go with their newfound perspectives? If an open letter offers practical steps forward, how does it create space for what happens after we vote or bring awareness about an issue to our social circles?
In 1962, James Baldwin wrote a searing letter in which he grappled with the fraught, racist future into which his nephew would come of age. Mr. Baldwin wrote, “You were born where you were born and faced the future that you faced because you were black and for no other reason. The limits to your ambition were thus expected to be settled. You were born into a society which spelled out with brutal clarity and in as many ways as possible that you were a worthless human being. You were not expected to aspire to excellence. You were expected to make peace with mediocrity.”