Literature

Book Review: The Managed Heart

[16 minute read]

Content warning: reading this book left me in a low state of existential panic and unable to respond appropriately to other people’s emotions for about a week. You have been warned.

If you’ve followed my blog for any amount of time, you probably know that I’m a big fan of the sociologist and feminist scholar Professor Arlie Russell Hochschild. Previously I have reviewed her books “Strangers in Their Own Land” and “The Second Shift“. I’ve also published a practical guide to sharing housework, inspired by reading “The Second Shift”. Today I’m going to review The Managed Heart the book that first brought Professor Hochschild to mainstream attention.

But before I begin the review, I’d like to talk about words.

Words are handles to grasp concepts. These handles (like the concepts they evoke) are by necessity blurry and fuzzy. They change. Is Pluto a planet? It depends on what “planet” means to you. If you’re an academic astronomer, you might answer this differently than one of the kids who sent Neil deGrasse Tyson hate mail.

Language must necessarily grow and evolve. I’ve given up trying to police the meaning of literally (although you’ll have to take the Oxford Comma from my cold, dead hands). That said, I really wish that every subculture dominated by people under thirty took one fucking second to do a fucking lit review before they grab academic sounding words for their HuffPo think pieces or blog posts.

(I live in a glass house here. I am loosely associated with the Rationalist Community, a group of people who have based their whole philosophy on the literal arch-enemies of the rationalist philosophical tradition. “Empiricist Community” didn’t sound as smart or clever, so it lost out as a name despite the fact it was far more accurate.)

Technical words mean specific things and their definitions are policed so that academic disagreement (and more rarely, agreement) can happen at all. Academics need to have a clear(ish) view of what concept-handles they’re playing with and clear(ish) boundaries on those concepts, lest they spend all of their days arguing about definitions, like a Clinton caught in a lie. Currently we filter that sort of person out of the general academic discourse by letting them go study Hegel, but there’s always a risk of that spilling over, to disastrous effect.

Worse, when a technical word is stolen for general vocabulary it often comes to mean what people think it should mean, rather than what it originally meant. Those concepts, which were important enough that they needed names, are now left to float, handle-less. For example, “market failure” is at risk of coming to mean “weird consequences of markets”, not “markets that are trapped away from the Pareto-frontier, such that they have an opportunity to make someone/some metric better off without making anyone/anything else worse off that cannot be realized”. The technical definition is not evoked as well by the phrase “market failure” and so is at risk of being elided in popular discourse.

A subsequent consequence of this is that academic debate becomes meaningless, confusing, or incomprehensible to ordinary people (as their ability to police the language they use for discussions results in inevitable linguistic drift when those same terms are misused elsewhere). Non-academics assume that academics are using the colloquial term, when in fact they’re saying something else. Switching terms like this often has serious consequences for the veracity of arguments!

When an economist says “a minimum wage can lead to market failures”, many people think the economist is saying “it would be better if people could be payed less”, where they might actually be saying “when a minimum wage exists, a company may fail to hire a low productivity worker (say a high school graduate, or someone who doesn’t speak the dominant language very well) while forcing another worker to work overtime; if no minimum wage existed, the company could hire that worker, making both the hired worker and the existing employee (now freed from overtime) better off, while leaving the company no worse off”.

All this is to say that “emotional labour” is a key concept from The Managed Heart. It was termed in this book. And as near as I can tell, it has literally never been used properly in a blog post or think piece.

So before I talk about what emotional labour (in the academic sense) is, I’d like to give several examples of what it isn’t.

Emotional labour isn’t the mental load that women have to carry when managing the chores and children of a household. Infuriatingly, this subject was covered by Professor Hochschild in another book. It has a whole chapter devoted to it! Properly termed, it would be “responsibility for managing the second shift” or something like that.

Emotional labour isn’t women helping men process and figure out their feelings without compensation. Under the framework introduced in The Managed Heart, I’d suggest that it could be called “feeling rules promoting asymmetric empathizing”, which I will admit is much less catchy.

Emotional labour isn’t even the work women do to manage their feelings in a relationship so that men feel supported and validated. That comes up in The Managed Heart and is one subset of “emotion work”.

I am not claiming that any of these other contenders for the term “emotional labour” do not exist, are not real problems, or do not deserve academic study of their own. I believe that they do exist, are real problems, and deserve study (much of which has been done by Professor Hochschild). But I am also going to ignore them, pretend they don’t exist, and talk only about emotional labour as it was defined by Professor Hochschild: “the commercialization of our capacity to influence our own feelings”.

Unpacking that seemingly simple definition will provide fodder for most of my review.

First, what are feelings?

Professor Hochschild carefully charts the development of theories of emotion. There’s Darwin’s physical theory of emotion, that holds that emotions are the evolutionary vestiges of certain acts. Teeth barred in a rictus of anger is, to Darwin, the evolutionary vestige of actually biting. Anger emerges as the remnant of what would have been aggressive action and shows up in situations where our ancestors might have been aggressive.

Freud had some nonsense about dammed up libido (I have a policy of ignoring everything Freud said that involves the words “libido”, “oedipal”, and “fixation”, and I’m not going to break it just for this review). William James held that emotions were signifiers of physical change; to James, the emotion of anger was merely what we feel when our body prepares to fight and is solely a consequence of underlying physiological processes.

Later theorists, like Gerth and Mills, situated emotions in a social context. They talked about how culture might influence emotions and how inchoate emotions might be made understandable when others interpreted them for us. For example, if a bride cries when left at the altar on her wedding day, her mother’s explanation “you must be furious” gives name and focus to her roiling emotions. The bride may come to believe that she is crying because she is angry, and that the roil of emotions in her belly is anger. Had her mother instead suggested that she was feeling “sorrow”, then perhaps that would have been the name she chose.

Professor Hochschild builds on these definitions (and many others) to get one she’s satisfied with. To her, emotion is a sense, like proprioception or touch. It allows us to sense how we relate to others actions or to developments. Emotion in a Hochschildian framework doesn’t just lead to action (e.g. I was angry so I attacked him), it also leads to cognition (e.g. I paused to wonder why I was so sad).

Professor Hochschild holds emotion up as one of the most important senses because it acts as a signal function. There is the tautological sense in which emotion lets us know how we feel about something, but there is also the sense in which it warns us. We talk about a twinge of jealousy or a sinking dread. These emotions help us realize that all is not right.

Emotions can be consonant with a situation (e.g. I feel so happy on my wedding day), or dissonant (e.g. I should be happy at my wedding, but I’m really just scared). Dissonant emotions are most often the ones we seek to change, but as emotion becomes commercialized, we are increasingly asked to change our consonant emotions as well.

What do we do when we can’t change our emotions? And how do we effect a change?

Surface acting is one way we can deal (in a socially acceptable manner) with “feeling the wrong thing”. In surface acting, we change our countenance or face, but make no attempt to change how we feel. We might grin through pain, wear a fixed smile, or hide that we want to cry. We may not fool anyone else and we certainly don’t fool ourselves, but sometimes surface acting allows us to pay our emotional dues to those around us.

Surface acting can feel exhausting; you can’t rest or relax while you are presenting a fake face to the world. Therefore, it is often beneficial for us to be able to engage in deep acting.

Deep acting is the sincere attempt to engender an emotion that you are currently not feeling. There are two ways that you can attempt deep acting. In the first, you can try and chivy and talk yourself into feeling what you desire. When someone says they are trying to fall in love, or conversely trying not to fall too hard, they are engaging in this first form of deep acting.

The second form of deep acting shares much with method acting. Method acting encourages the actor to bring in emotions from other parts of their life and use them to animate the emotions of their character. In deep acting, you push on your emotions by using memories of other emotional states. Deep acting might look like “I was unhappy on the day of my wedding, so I brought up memories of things I like about my partner until I was smiling“.

Society imposes on us many feelings rules, which we interact with by doing the emotion work of deep acting or the feigning surface acting. Here’s a simple feelings rule: it is considered impolite to feel anything other than happiness for a friend’s promotion. If you instead feel jealous, there will be a strong societal expectation that you show none of it. Instead, you must transmute the jealousy into joy via deep acting, or hide it via surface acting.

You might think that feeling rules only apply when you aren’t interacting with the people you’re closest with. Professor Hochschild disagrees. She believes that feelings rules bind us especially tightly when we are with our closest friends or our romantic partners. She talks briefly here (and at depth in “The Second Shift”) about the economy of gratitude that exists in a relationship and how it requires constant emotion work to maintain. You expect your partner to be excited on your behalf when you get a promotion or self-flagellating and apologetic if they cheat. Closeness acts like a filter; only people who instinctively manage their emotions in a way that is pleasing to you (or, in the case of partners who try and “win someone over”, put in a lot of effort) end up close to you, so the reality of the emotion work underlying close relationships is often obscured. Part of Professor Hochschild’s purpose in studying emotion work at work was to pull back this curtain and view emotion work that wasn’t so unconscious and unthinking.

There certainly can be a gendered dynamic to emotion work. Professor Hochschild believes that men are trained to expect a certain amount of emotion work from women: fluffing of the ego, soothing of the temper, etc. She also believes that emotion work is unevenly spread because women are better trained in it and men tend to be better off. Within the context of a heterosexual relationship, this often manifests in the unconscious deal of a man providing physical security through his more highly paid work, in exchange for a woman’s emotional labour and her labour around the house (this idea is more thoroughly dissected in “The Second Shift”).

The primary marketplace and arena of emotion work is “emotional bowing”. Emotional bowing encompasses two types of exchanges, improvisational and straight. In a straight exchange, you are following the rules and exchange rates of society. When you repay advice from a senior colleague with sincere gratitude, you are engaging in a straight exchange.

When the gratitude is feigned, obviously false, or the advice given grudgingly, you are still trying to play out the straight exchange, but you are quibbling about the exchange rate. Similarly, when you brush aside gratitude and claim the advice you gave was “my pleasure”, you are making a rather different point about the exchange rate and showing kindnesses and graciousness – and perhaps making something clear about the emotional tone you expect at your workplace. Even kindness can become a demand for future emotion work.

Many disagreements, especially among close friends and lovers are caused by different notions of the exchange rate between actions. In these close relationships, emotion work is just one way that we can repay others, but it is often the one that breaks down in response to problems, when we suddenly realize the thing we “should” be feeling takes actual work to feel.

In an improvisational exchange, the feeling rules themselves are called into question, often using sarcasm or irony. A man may jokingly tell a crying male friend “remember, men never cry”. By ironically referencing the feeling rule (that men cannot show emotion), he gives his friend permission to violate it. This sort of exchange requires clear knowledge and understanding of how everyone involved interprets feelings rules, so is uncommon except in close relationships.

When the crying man rejects the toxic masculinity that causes men to disown their emotions, referencing the feeling rule might cheer him up, as he is reminded that even his sorrow is a radical act in line with his values. But if he instead embraces that conception of masculinity, referencing the feeling rule might add to his grief and make him feel a failure. Only his friends would know which is likely to occur, so only his friends would risk an improvisational exchange.

This particular part of the book brought on my existential crisis, as I found myself unable to respond to emotional displays with anything other than attempts to calculate what was given, expected, and owed. I do now wonder if this is a common experience, or if my response was somewhat atypical? In either case, a warning before I (potentially) inflicted this on anyone else seemed prudent.

Anyway, all of this background brings us to emotional labour, the true topic of this book. Emotional labour is when emotion work is removed from its normal place in the home and in broader society, and starts to become part of someone’s economic responsibilities. Physical labour has long been commoditized and therefore made anonymous – that is to say, it does not matter which particular person manufactures your car, because any other labourer could have done it approximately as well. While emotional labour has long existed, it is only recently (with a decline in manufacturing jobs and increase in service jobs) that it has become commoditized and therefore gone mainstream.

Professor Hochschild takes a somewhat Marxist approach to the dangers of emotional labour. In the same way that Marx worried about labourers being alienated from the physical products of their work, Professor Hochschild worries about the effects of labourers being alienated from the emotional products of their work.

Like all of Professor Hochschild’s books, The Managed Heart is in some sense an ethnography. The subjects of this book are bill collectors (who are required to do the emotional labour of avoiding sympathy or pity) and flight attendants (who must do the emotional labour of providing a cheery, relaxed façade). In both of these cases, these required emotions (and the feeling rules that produce them) might be variously consonant and dissonant with what the worker may wish to feel.

Earlier, I said that workers are being increasingly asked to avoid consonant feelings. Take as an example the bill collector, moved by pity or charity to seek to find a repayment schedule that works for their client or a flight attendant furious at a customer who is repeatedly belittling them. In both of these cases, emotions are correctly functioning (both as a signal function, and in accordance with societal feelings rules), but economic realities demand that the worker feel something else. Corporate requirements impose a new set of feelings rules, which may clash with extant ones, potentially grinding up workers in the process.

Acting in response to these alien feeling rules can be exhausting. For flight attendants, Professor Hochschild identified three stances they can take towards their work, each with its own risks:

In the first, the worker identifies too wholeheartedly with the job, and therefore risks burnout. In the second, the worker clearly distinguishes her- self from the job and is less likely to suffer burnout; but she may blame herself for making this very distinction and denigrate herself as ‘Just an actor, not sincere.” In the third, the worker distinguishes herself from her act, does not blame herself for this, and sees the job as positively requiring the capacity to act; for this worker there is some risk of estrangement from acting altogether, and some cynicism about it– “We’re just illusion makers.”

No job is entirely without risks (both physical and psychological), yet work must get done. I would have like to see Professor Hochschild better engage with this fact. Her potential solution (to give workers more control over the emotional labour they are required to do) is not as free of costs as she seems to think it is. For whenever it is not universal, all those companies that refuse to give control of emotional labour over to their employees may find themselves at a steep advantage. The threat of this (if emotional labour is indeed a competitive advantage) might be enough to keep whole industries scared of allowing any worker control, absent a mechanism for perfect coordination.

(It seems like the best way to free people from emotional labour would be to prove that it is not important. But we are social animals and so I doubt such a proof is forthcoming. Or possible at all.)

Still, there is often something deeply troubling about how emotional labour is framed. Professor Hochschild gives the example of a seminar about “reducing stress and making work more pleasant” at the flight attendant recurrent training centre. Belying the messaging, it seemed like the real purpose of the seminar was to convince the flight attendants to sublimate any anger they might, in the future, feel at passengers into emotions less risky for the company. A pleasant working environment was secondary to the corporate goals.

In the model of emotion-as-signal-function, anger is important. Indeed, it seems that negative emotions (specifically the negative affect/fear cluster) are particularly important to living a safe life. There seems to be something deeply wrong and dangerous to workers in telling them that all anger in their professional life is their own problem, to be appropriately handled, rather than occasionally indicative of a customer who is seriously overstepping lines.

Regardless of the right or wrong of it, the flight attendants interviewed in the book had to manage their anger and they talked about several strategies they had developed to do so (some of which were taught to them at recurrent training). They might put themselves in the angry customer’s shoes and try and imagine that person as suffering from some life events that explained and excused their behaviour. Or they might remind themselves that they only had to deal with the customer for a little while, allowing them drive out their anger and replace it with relief. Asking other co-workers for emotional support was officially discouraged, because it might lead to anger spreading. Flight attendants who could help their colleagues feel the officially sanctioned emotions (e.g. by diffusing anger with light-hearted joking) were valued members of teams.

Professor Hochschild suggests that we are trained for emotional labour from a young age. Or rather, that some children are. She suggests that working-class children are prepared to have their actions governed by rules, while middle-class children are prepared to have their feelings governed by rules. Note that this isn’t necessarily explicit. I recall receiving no specific training on emotion management, but I know that I picked it up somewhere and that I’m somewhat disturbed by people who seem unable or unwilling to practice emotion management.

One way that emotion work is taught (or not) is by family dynamics. Professor Hochschild suggests that many working-class families use a positional family control system, while middle-class families use a personal control system. In a positional family, authority is derived from a certain mixture of age, gender, employment status, parenthood, etc. Those with authority make decisions within their spheres of authority and the other members of the family must act in accordance with these decisions, although they don’t have to like it.

In a personal control system, control is achieved via appeals to the emotions of a child. Because all decisions of the child are framed as a choice (but with an obvious correct answer), this can lead to a maddening chain of explanations. Whenever the child states their preference, the parent will explain the decision in more detail and explain why the child should feel differently, such that they’ll have the “correct” preference. I can’t remember if this was explicitly mentioned, but it seems to me that this would also serve the purpose of inculcating in the child a strong understand of normative feeling rules.

There is also a relationship between these control systems and discipline. Professor Hochschild cites research that middle-class parents are more likely to sanction intent, while working-class parents are more likely to sanction actions. The working-class parent sanctions the child because of the results of a temper-tantrum. The middle-class parent sanctions the child because they lost their temper.

Professor Hochschild suggests that the sum of this is three messages sent to a (middle-class) child:

  • Feelings in others, particularly their superiors, are important and worth trying to understand.
  • Their own feelings are important and a valid reason for making decisions.
  • Feelings are meant to be managed, controlled, and yoked to rules.

It’s clear that because of this education, feelings rules are a gender and class issue. First, the feelings rules learned in childhood act as a middle- and upper-class shibboleth, making it clear who was raised outside of those classes. Working-class members looking for upwards mobility will have to do catch-up work that is entirely invisible – except in lapses – to those they are seeking to blend in with.

Second, in a world in which the higher ranks of government and corporations are biased towards men, women are given a particular incentive to be sensitive towards the feelings of men, while men have no corresponding requirement to be sensitive towards the feelings of women. Combine this with a toxic masculinity that leaves men little room to acknowledge or talk about feelings and you’re left with a situation where many men will seriously lack the capacity to understand – or even the knowledge that they should be trying to understand – the feelings of women in their lives.

Professor Hochschild frames the intersection of class and feeling rules somewhat more bluntly than I have:

More precisely, the class messages that parents pass on to their children may be roughly as follows. Middle class: “Your feelings count because you are (or will be) considered important by others:’ Lower class: “Your feelings don’t count because you aren’t (or won’t be) considered important by others:’

Note that this was written in the 80s and Professor Hochschild did suggest that orientation towards controlling emotions might soon (after the time of publication) cut across class lines due to the advent of automation. To an extent I think this has been borne out, but I feel like there is also an aesthetic element here. Class determines what emotions are acceptable to show (although of course this relationship is complicated and fickle, much like fashion), which also determines what people are raised to be able to do.

For a book that was supposed to focus on emotional labour, remarkably little of this book concerned actual interviews with labourers. The case studies here were much less in depth than in “The Second Shift” or “Strangers in Their Own Land”. This necessarily made the book harder to read and more academic and dry in tone. Ethnography often gives me the thrill of meeting (vicariously) interesting people (and of discovering that people I haven’t given much thought to are shockingly interesting!), but I found that distinctly lacking in this book.

(It’s much more theoretical than practical and I have to say that I prefer Professor Hochschild’s more practical books.)

That’s not to say the book wasn’t interesting or thought provoking. On the contrary, I often found thinking about it overwhelming. It introduced me to powerful models in areas of my life where I’d previously done little modelling.

If you want to better understand emotion, I recommend this book. If you want to read an entertaining ethnography, or see in depth case studies of how emotional management ties in to work, I’m less certain that you should. If you want an introduction to Professor Hochschild’s work, I also recommend skipping this one until you’ve read “The Second Shift”; that book is much more focused and somewhat better written.

Really, I think that my view of The Managed Heart illustrates a common problem, known to anyone who goes back and reads the earlier (and less polished) work of a beloved author. People grow, change, and develop. I can see some of the things I loved about Professor Hochschild’s later work here, but many other parts were missing.

Luckily Professor Hochschild has written several other books and they undoubtedly have more of what I like most about her. My ambivalence for the style (although not the contents) of this book have not at all dulled my resolution to read more of her work. Expect to see more reviews of Professor Hochschild’s books here in the future.

Model, Politics

Four Narratives on Mohammed Bin Salman

[10 minute read]

Since June 21st of this year, Mohammed bin Salman (often known by his initials, MBS) has been the crown prince of Saudi Arabia. This required what was assuredly not a palace coup, because changes of government or succession are never coups, merely “similar to coups”, “coup-like”, “coup-esque”, or “coupLite™” [1]. As crown prince, MBS has championed a loosening of religious restrictions on women and entertainment, a decrease in reliance on oil for state revenues, and a harder line with Qatar and Iran.

Media coverage has been, uh, split. Here’s an editorial in The Washington Post comparing MBS to Putin, while an editorial in The New York Times fawningly declares “Saudi Arabia’s Arab Spring, at Last” [2]. Given that there’s so much difference in opinion on MBS, I thought it might be useful to collect and summarize some of the common narratives, before giving my own perspective on the man.

MBS as the Enlightened Despot

Historical Archetype: Frederick the Great.
Proponents: Al Arabiya [3], optimistic western journalists.
Don’t talk to them about: The war in Yemen, the blockade of Qatar, the increased stifling of dissent.

Exemplified by the fawning column above, this school of thought holds that MBS is a dynamic young leader who will reform the Saudi economy, end its dependence on oil, overhaul its institutions, end corruption, and “restore” a more moderate form of Islam.

They point to several initiatives that back this up. There’s the Vision 2030 plan that aims to spur entrepreneurship and reduce corruption. There’s much needed educational reforms. There’s the decision to allow women to drive and view sports games. There’s the lifting of bans on entertainment. For some of them, the ambiguous clamp-down on “corruption” is even further evidence that MBS is very serious about his reforms.

To supporters, MBS has achieved much in very little time, which they take to be clear evidence of a strong work ethic and a keen intelligence. His current crop of reforms gives them clear hope that clerical power can be shattered and Saudi Arabia can one day become a functioning, modern, democracy.

MBS as a character in Game of Thrones

Historical Archetype: Richard Nixon
Proponents: Cynical western journalists, Al Jazeera
Don’t talk to them about: How real-life politics is never actually as interesting or well planned as Game of Thrones.

Cersei Lannister’s quotable warning, that “when you play a game of thrones you win or you die” might imply that MBS is on somewhat shaky ground. Proponents of the first view might dispute that and proponents of the next rejoice in it. Proponents of this view point out that so far, MBS seems to be winning.

By isolating Qatar and launching a war in Yemen, he has checked Iranian influence on the Arabian Peninsula. Whether or not it’s valid, his corruption crackdown has sidelined many potential sources of competition (and will probably net much needed liquid cash for the state coffers; it is ironic that Saudi state now turns to sources of liquidity other than the literal liquid that made it so rich). His conflict with Qatar might yet result in the shutdown of Al Jazeera, the most popular TV channel in the Arabic speaking world and long a thorn in the side of Saudi Arabian autocracy.

People who view the conflict through this lens either aren’t particularly concerned with right or wrong (e.g. westerners who just want to get their realpolitik fix) or think that the very fact that MBS might be engaging in HBO worthy realpolitik proves he is guilty of a grave crime (e.g. Al Jazeera, westerners worrying that the region might become even more unstable).

MBS as an overreaching tyrant

Historical Archetype: Joseph II (epitaph: “Here lies Joseph II, who failed in all he undertook.”)
Proponents: Arab spring activists and their allies
Don’t talk to them about: How much better MBS is than any plausible alternative.

Saudi Arabia is a rentier state with an unusual relationship with its population. Saudi state revenues are not derived from taxation (which almost invariably results in calls for responsible government), but instead from oil money. This money is distributed back to citizens via cushy government jobs. In Saudi Arabia, two-thirds of citizen employment is in the public sector. The private sector is almost wholly the purview of expats, who (if I’m reading the latest official Saudi employment report right) hold 75% of the non-governmental jobs [4].

With oil set to become obsolete in the next fifty years, Saudi Arabia is in a very bad position. The only thing that can save it is a diversified economy, but the path there isn’t smooth. Overarching reform of an economy is difficult and normally relies on extensive, society-wide consultation. Proponents of this theory see MBS as intent on centralizing power so that he can achieve this transformation single-handedly.

They note that the reversal of the ban on women driving has been paired with intense pressure on the very activists who originally agitated for its removal, pressure to say nothing and to avoid celebrations. They also note that the anti-corruption sweep conveniently removes many people who could have stood in MBS’s way as he embarks on his reforms and expropriates their wealth for the state [5]. They note that independent economists and other civil society figures – just the sort of people who could have provided (and did provide) nuanced feedback on Vision 2030 – have found themselves suddenly detained on MBS’s orders.

Proponents of this theory believe that MBS is trying to modernize Saudi Arabia, but that he is doomed to fail in his attempts without building a (possibly democratic) consensus around the direction of the kingdom. They believe that Saudi Arabia cannot have the civil society necessary for reform until the government stops viewing rights as something it gives the citizens (and that they must be grateful for), but as an inherent human birthright.

If you believe this, you’ll most likely see MBS as moving the kingdom further from this ideal. And you might see the invasion and ongoing war in Yemen as the sort of cluster-fuck we can expect from MBS’s too-rapid attempts to accumulate and use power.

My View

I would first like to note that one advantage of caricaturing other views then providing a synthesis is that you get to appear reasonable and nuanced by comparison. I’m going to claim that as my reward for going through the work to post this, but please do remember that other people have nuanced views too. I got where I am by reading or listening to them!

My overarching concern with respect to Saudi Arabia is checking the spread of Wahhabi fundamentalism. Saudi Arabia has been exporting this world-wide, with disastrous effects. Wahhabism may not be the official ideology of the so-called Islamic State (Daesh), but it is inextricably tied to their barbarism. Or rather, their barbarity is inextricably tied to and influenced by Wahhabism. It is incredibly easy to find articles by authors, Muslim or not, (many by academics) marking the connection between Wahhabism and terrorism.

The takfiri impulses of Wahhabism [6] underlie the takfiri doctrine so beloved of Daesh. Of course, the vast, vast majority of Wahhabis engage in neither terrorism, nor public executions of (by Canadian standards) innocent people. But insofar as those things do happen in the Sunni world, Wahhabi men are unusually likely to be the perpetrators. It is tempting to go further, to claim that conservatives are wrong – that there is no Islamic terrorism problem, merely a Wahhabi terrorism problem [7] – but this would be false.

(There is terrorism conducted by Shia Muslims and by other Sunni sects and to call terrorism a solely Wahhabi problem makes it sound like there are no peaceful Wahhabis. A much more accurate (and universal, as this is true across almost all religions and populations) single cause would be masculinity, as almost all terrorists are men.)

Still, the fact that so much terrorism can be traced back to a close western ally [8] is disquieting and breeds some amount of distrust of the west in some parts of the Islamic world (remember always that Muslim are the primary victims of Islamic terrorism; few have better reasons to despise Islamic terrorism than the terrorists’ co-religionists and most-frequent victims).

Beyond terrorist groups like Daesh, Wahhabism fuels sectarian conflicts, strips rights from women, makes life even more dangerous for queer people in Muslim countries, and leads to the arrest and persecution of atheists. I am in a general a staunch liberal and I believe that most religions can coexist peacefully and many represent paths towards human flourishing. I do not believe this about Wahhabism. It stifles flourishing and breeds misery wherever it lands. It must be stopped.

The fact that Wahhabism at home is a problem for MBS (the Wahhabi clergy is an alternative, non-royal power centre that he can’t directly control) could give me some hope that he might stop supporting Wahhabism. Certainly he has made statements to that effect. But it is very unclear if he has any real interest in ending Saudi Arabia $100 billion-dollar effort to export Wahhabism abroad. I would be unsurprised if he deals with the domestic problems inherent in displacing the clergy (i.e. they might not want to be displaced without a messy fight) by sending the most reticent and troublesome members abroad, where they won’t mess up his own plans.

There’s the added wrinkle of Iran. MBS clearly hates Iran and Wahhabism considers Iranian Shiites heretical by default. MBS could easily hold onto Wahhabism abroad simply for its usefulness in checking Iranian influence.

Second to this concern is my concern for the human rights of Yemenis. MBS launched a war that has been marked by use of cluster munitions and flagrant disregard for civilian casualties. MBS instigated this war and was defense minister for much of its duration. Its existence and his utter failure to hold his troops to humanitarian standards is a major black mark against him.

Finally, I care about human rights inside Saudi Arabia. It seems clear that in general, the human rights situation inside the country will improve with MBS in power. There really doesn’t exist a plausible power centre that is more likely to make the average Saudi freer. That said, MBS has detained activists and presided over the death sentence of peaceful protestors.

The average Saudi who does not rock the boat may see her life improve. But the activists who have struggled for human rights will probably not be able to enjoy them themselves.

What this means is that MBS is better than almost all plausible replacements (in the short-term), but he is by no means a good leader, or a morally upstanding individual. In the long term, he might stunt the very civil society that Saudi Arabia needs to become a society that accepts and promotes human flourishing [9]. And if he fails in his quest to modernize Saudi society, we’re much more likely to see unrest, repression, and a far worse regime than we are to see democratic change.

In the long run, we’re all dead. But before that, Saudi Arabia may be in for some very uncomfortable changes.

Footnotes

[1] As near as I can tell, the change was retroactively made all proper with the Allegiance Council, as soon as the fait was truly accompli. Reports that they approved it beforehand seem to come only from sources with a very vested interest in that being true. ^

[2] There’s something deeply disturbing about a major news organization comparing a change in which unelected despot will lead a brutal dictatorship with a movement that earnestly strove for democratic change. ^

[3] A note on news outlets linked to throughout this post: Al Arabiya is owned by Saudi Arabia and therefore tends to view everything Saudi Arabia does in the best possible light. Al Jazeera is owned by Qatar (which is currently being blockaded by Saudi Arabia) and tends to view the kingdom in the worst possible light. The Arab Tyrants Manual Podcast that informed my own views here is produced by Iyad El-Baghdadi, who was arrested for his Arab Spring reporting by The United Arab Emirates (a close ally of Saudi Arabia) and later exiled. This has somewhat soured his already dim view on Arab dictatorships. ^

[4] Foreigners make up about 53% of the total labour force and almost all of them work in the private sector. Saudis holding private jobs are ~15.5% of the labour force based on these numbers. If we divide 15.5% by 53% plus 15.5%, we get 22% of private jobs held by Saudis. I think for purposes of this comparison, Saudi Aramco, the state oil giant, counts as the public sector.

Remember also that Saudi Arabia has a truly dismal adult labour force participation rate, a side of effect of their deeply misogynistic public policy. ^

[5] Furthermore, they point out that it is basically impossible to tell if a Saudi royal is corrupt or not, because there is no clear boundary between the personal fortune of the Saud dynasty and the state coffers. Clearing up this particular ambiguity seems low on the priority list of a man who just bought a half-billion dollar yacht.

(If you’re not too lazy to click on a footnote, but are too lazy to click on a link, it was MBS. MBS bought the giant yacht. Spoilers.) ^

[6] I’ve long held the belief that Wahhabism is dangerous. When talking about this with my Muslim friends, I was often hesitant and apologetic. I needn’t have been. Their vehemence in criticism of Wahhabism often outstripped mine. That was because they had all of my reasons to dislike Wahhabism, plus the unique danger takfir presented to them.

Takfir is the idea that Wahhabis (or their ideological descendants) may deem other Muslims to be infidels if they do not follow Wahhabism’s austere commandments. This often leads to the execution or lynching of more moderate Muslims at the hands of takfiris. As you may have guessed, most North American Muslims could be called takfir by Wahhabis or others of their ilk.

Remember: there are Quranic rules of conduct (oft broken, but still existing) that govern how ISIL may treat Christians or Jews. With those they declare takfir, there are no such niceties. Daesh ecstatically executes Muslims they deem takfir.

Takfir is one of the many reasons that it is easy to find articles by Muslim authors decrying Wahhabism. Many Muslims legitimately fear a form of Islam that would happily deem them heretical and execute them. ^

[7] It is commonly reported that 15 of the 19 September 11 hijackers were Saudi men, brought up on Wahhabism. The link between Wahhabism, takfir, and terrorism is another reason it is common to find non-Wahhabi Muslims opposed to Wahhabism. Here’s a sampling of English language reporting on Daesh from Muslim countries. Indeed, in many sources I’ve read, the word takfiri was exclusively followed by “terrorist” or “terrorists”. ^

[8] It remains baffling and disgusting that politicians like Donald Trump, Teresa May, and Justin Trudeau can claim to oppose terrorism, while also maintaining incredibly close relationships with Saudi Arabia, which was described in a leaked diplomatic cable as “the most significant source of funding to Sunni terrorist groups worldwide”. ^

[9] To create a civil society, Saudi Arabia would need to lift restrictions on the press, give activists some official power, and devolve more power to elected municipalities. Civil society is the corona of pressure groups, advisors, and influencers that exist around a government and allow people to build common knowledge about their desires. Civil society helps you understand just how popular or unpopular a government policy is and gives you a lever to pull if you want to influence it.

A functioning civil society protects a government from its own mistakes (by making an outcry possible before any deed is irreversibly done) and helps ensure that the government is responsible to the will of the people.

That MBS is working hard to prevent civil society shows that he has no desire for feedback and believes he knows better than literally everyone else in the country who is not already his sycophant. I see few ways this could end well. ^