Questioning power and the danger of uncritical non-acceptance
It would not be a university lecture if the professor did not spend the first ten minutes encouraging their students to ask questions. “There is no such thing as a stupid question,” they would say—or at least a variation of those words—so that no one would leave the classroom with their doubts unanswered. For some, our high school teachers and family members used to echo a similar sentiment: the idea that if there is something we do not understand, we must seek to clarify it. Usually, this questioning is presented as fundamental for our individual wellbeing, as the material might be in the midterm, or we would lose some extremely important information.
Nevertheless, when the issues we question extend from daily activities to the nature of our political and social climate—say, more systemic concerns—the necessity for clarification increases. This is partially because these dilemmas concern how and why society operates the way it does, and since our personal interactions are tied to its inner workings, we must attempt to understand them. Most important, however, is the fact that the status quo, which constantly oppresses and silences the less powerful, benefits from our lack of questions. If we refuse to challenge authority, we are choosing to be silently compliant with whatever they are trying to enforce, and our lack of doubt can be interpreted, just as it does in lecture, as acceptance.
To better illustrate how questioning the social norm is a good thing, we can turn our attention towards the implicit requirement of reliable technology in a university classroom. It only takes a skim through any course syllabus to realise that computers are a necessary item to engage with class material, given that they operate as the primary source to submit assignments and prepare for lectures. Nonetheless, there is a small percentage of students (approximately 16%-19% in the United States) who lack access to dependable technology. This is referred to as the “digital gap,” which systematically favours those who can readily connect to the internet over those who cannot. These students, who are mostly part of underrepresented minorities and low-income households, exhibit high levels of cell phone dependency as they do not own any other device that can efficiently manage the task at hand. Unfortunately, as many of us can attest, a mobile phone cannot compete with a computer when writing online assignments. This places disadvantaged students in a race they cannot win. How can universities make their content more accessible to their own students? Is it fair to require computer usage to hand in assignments? To what extent can (and should) we rely on technology to succeed in university?
Questioning the necessity of reliable technology at university allows us to realise that not everyone can simply buy a laptop and that the system benefits those who can. Within the broader educational system, we would see how elitism is a central theme of world education, where the myth of meritocracy promises success to the ‘best.’ Yet, social advantage predicts opportunity, which means that ‘being the best’ is inherently tied to economic wealth and cultural capital, which not everyone has in equal measure. It is only through challenging the norm that we can understand how and why this seemingly acceptable principle—the required usage of computers—is the symptom of a much larger issue that demands even more societal non-acceptance.
With this example in mind, I would like to introduce what we will from now on call a ‘healthy dose of scepticism.’ In other words, the extent to which we should be wary of authority and their suggestions because there may or may not be a trade-off we do not wish to partake in. This concept is better exemplified when discussing public policy and government proposals, as they are the most obvious forms of authority. For instance, Doug Ford’s proposal to open 3,000 hectares of protected lands in Ontario’s Greenbelt to development has been presented as a solution to address the province’s housing crisis, but the truthfulness of this claim is up for questioning. First of all, multiple experts say his housing targets can be met elsewhere, which implies the Greenbelt can be left untouched at the same time that Ford meets his campaign promises. Secondly, there is proof that certain developers were favoured in a biassed process that tied them to the housing minister, despite the Premier’s assurances that there was no favouritism.
If we were to approach Ford’s claims without our healthy dose of scepticism, we would take everything he said as indisputable, whether we agreed with it or not. After all, he is an authority figure with the work and academic experience many of us do not have. Yet, if his statements were unchallenged, we would be supporting unnecessary policies—like building on the Greenbelt when those goals can be met elsewhere. If we refused to critically analyse the Ford government’s policies (as well as many others), we might be accepting what they say as truthful with no concern for the nature and veracity of its contents, acting as a silent bystander that abstains from challenging authority even when their integrity should be examined. The easiest question to ask, then, would be: “What interests, personal or otherwise, are they trying to uphold?”
Nevertheless, this doubt of authority cannot and must not be mistaken for simple contrarianism. Disagreeing with authority demands a critical process nurtured by research, understanding, and occasionally, a bit of common sense. Otherwise, we risk turning our healthy dose of scepticism into a sceptic overdose that creates a worldview completely detached from reality, heeding no attention to objective facts, scientific research, or even the principles of human empathy. As a result, the largest problem with this overdose is that its nonexistent critical ties to factual understanding makes it extremely dangerous, as indiscriminate non-acceptance transcends the fight for an improved society and centres exclusively on personal gain.
I want to bring forth one of the most astounding moments in recent history to fully illustrate the risks of a sceptic overdose. During 2020, the eyes of thousands of people—American and non-American alike—were fixed on the US presidential race, which came amidst the already devastating COVID-19 pandemic, the multitudinous Black Lives Matter protests, and were also tied to the controversial figurehead of the Republican Party. Idolised by some and despised by others, Donald Trump’s loss of a second presidential term spurred a series of events that, to this day, remain mind-blowing. Even after major national and international news outlets had declared Joe Biden the presidential winner, Trump addressed the country and stated, according to the White House Archive, that “If you count the legal votes, I easily win. If you count the illegal votes, they can try to steal the election from us.” He went on to detail how that had exactly happened, fixating on mail-in ballots and claiming that they lacked verification measures, which made the votes prone to alteration. In Trump’s mind, his electoral win had been illegitimately taken from him, and the political system he always criticised had effectively done what it had always sought to achieve: protect itself from any outside threat.
Now, if it had just been Trump who adamantly refused to recognise his defeat, it would have been almost comical. After all, the notion of refusing to accept the facts, despite how much evidence there is to support them, is as ridiculous as it sounds. Nonetheless, there were a multitude of people who supported his claims, not because they were right, but because Trump was the one who made them. These followers, who have been with him since he first rose to power in 2016, tend to meet at least one of the following social characteristics: they primarily identify as men who did not go to college, do not think they have a political voice, and they wish to protect their white in-group from non-white outsiders. As non-college educated citizens, their rate of full-time employment fell from 76 percent in 1990 to 68 percent in 2013, which has led to a meaningful decrease in their real wages. In many instances, they have been trampled by the surge in globalisation, which has left them feeling voiceless and powerless in the face of the political status quo.
There is obviously a sector of Trumpism that is born out of misinformation and prejudice, easily radicalised by a populist leader that embodies their own racist, sexist, and nationalistic beliefs. But those who experience social disadvantage cannot be ignored, as the system has failed them, too. Not to the same degree that it has structurally oppressed the Black and Indigenous communities, or to the extent it has excluded Latinx immigrants, but enough for them to grow dissatisfied by it. That is, while the white men who voted for Trump are part of the majority group in the United States, benefitting from a system built specifically for their own needs and desires, they are also disadvantaged by a status quo that prioritises economic wealth over social wellbeing. These citizens felt like they were losing, and Trump promised them to win. Even if we disagree with their willingness to ignore Trumpism’s violent message, it is possible to state that their vote was cast in a challenge to the political establishment—the traditional political authority—because they were wary of its promises. That is, they were sceptical.
However, even if their scepticism was problematic when they refused to acknowledge Trump’s discourse as dangerous, they overdosed on it when they rejected undeniable facts. First, in order to exercise a healthy dose of scepticism, it is necessary to critically approach politicians and their message because challenging authority is not sufficient in its simple existence. In other words, just because someone questions the status quo does not mean their approach is correct nor that their challenge is posed in the correct terms. Trump, despite his position as a political outsider, was an accused sexual predator and a known misogynist whose claims should have been examined twice before anyone subscribed to the MAGA banner. Many did not approach his campaign critically, even as his term became tainted by misinformation. To Trump’s followers, he is the end-all be-all of American politics, regardless of what anyone—however, experienced—argued.
This overdose spread like wildfire, and by January 6, it was already too late. Trump’s calls for election overturn and to “never give up” and “never concede” when there is ‘theft’ involved triggered a crowd of thousands to vandalise and illegally breach the US Capitol. Some of these individuals were armed with Molotov cocktails and tactical gear, waving their MAGA flag as they chanted for former Vice President Mike Pence to be hanged. Undeniably violent, this angry crowd wanted to ‘restore’ electoral results, relying on the words of a man that denounced a corrupt world he did not fully understand. Most significantly, these people were radicalised to such a degree that uncritical non-acceptance became the norm: they opposed the political establishment—embodied in this case by the American electoral system—simply because it was the political establishment. They allowed populism to feed on their dissatisfaction and supported it when Trump pursued his personal gains, refusing to recognise that while the system is unfair, mere contrarianism will not suffice.
Henceforth, after explaining—in perhaps extensive detail—the importance of a healthy dose of scepticism, I want to highlight the necessity to question authority always through a critical lens. After all, nonconformity will constantly be an essential component when addressing our socio-political system, as challenging its structure requires us to discern the many places where it fails. Through the Trump scenario, I wish to present a cautionary tale: doubts and questions are only positive once we have developed them well, for they can morph into a sceptic overdose that refuses to acknowledge when authority does something right.
If we were to simply advocate for contrarianism, we risk becoming people who refuse to acknowledge the truth because it does not fit our worldview. This is something we need to be aware of as Republican points of discourse taint government officials, slowly radicalising Canadian discontent into the Trucker Convoy of 2022—or what could continue to exacerbate in the upcoming years. After all, if we lack the ability to critically analyse government promises, the system would benefit, not from our lack of questions but from our inability to ask the right ones.
