One Justice, Three Narratives

1. Raised in poverty in the Jim Crow South, Clarence Thomas overcame obstacles at every turn to attend Yale, the most highly regarded law school in the country. Through hard work and determination, he landed a prestigious appointment as an assistant attorney general and, at a young age, moved quickly up the legal ladder. Due to his leadership in an important position running a federal agency in the Reagan administration, a mere 15 years after graduating law school Thomas was appointed to the DC Court of Appeals. Less than two years later, after proving his skill as a jurist, he was confirmed as a Justice of the US Supreme Court. When he eventually retires, Thomas will have lived the American Dream, moving from poverty to prosperity, from penury to power.
2. Raised in a broken home in the Jim Crow South, often relying on charity from his hard-working neighbors, Clarence Thomas bounced between two unremarkable colleges before eventually graduating with a degree in English literature. He applied and was accepted to Yale Law School under its quota system for African American students and struggled with the demanding curriculum, graduating in the middle of his class. After graduation he was unable to find work, until he landed a job with a fellow Yale Law alum who was seeking to diversify his all-white staff. This was the first in a string of political appointments to government jobs. Despite poor work performances that included efforts to sleep with his subordinates, and a lack of significant experience as a judge, Thomas was nominated to the Supreme Court to fill the seat vacated by civil rights litigator Thurgood Marshall. When he eventually retires, Thomas will have spent his entire life living off the hard-earned money of his fellow Americans.
3. Clarence Thomas is a descendant of slaves who was born and raised in the Jim Crow South. His family had long been denied an equal education and other opportunities to succeed, but throughout his life Thomas was surrounded by people who were committed to helping him overcome these obstacles. His single mother made sure he had food on the table and received the best education possible; Thomas became the first in his family to go to college. Yale Law School, following student protests at its exclusion of African Americans, opened its doors to Thomas and other Black applicants in 1971. With the support of his professors and classmates, Thomas graduated on time, passed the bar, and found work with a supportive alum. His relationship with his first boss, a rising political star, helped him find a community of mutual support in the Republican Party, which saw his potential and encouraged others to take a chance on a man born without money or connections. When he eventually retires, Thomas will be able to credit a long list of people with helping him achieve so much.

One man. Three stories. Three radically different narratives.

Which story is true? All of them. The basic facts of Thomas’s life are what they are. He grew up in poverty in the Jim Crow South. He got into Yale under its quota system. He worked a series of mostly political appointments culminating in his ascension to the Court of Appeals and then Supreme Court. But how you tell the story of his life can vary radically, depending on which narrative you use.

The first story taps into a popular conservative narrative about self-sufficiency. The second story taps into a different conservative (and racialized) narrative about dependency. The third story taps into progressive narratives about structural inequality and mutuality.

One of the challenges with narratives is that it is both common and easy, particularly for progressives, to use a bad narrative toward a good end. Take the second narrative about dependency. If you want to turn public sentiment against Thomas, it is tempting to portray him as a welfare queen and unqualified quota beneficiary. Doing so might make more people dislike Thomas, and if that’s your goal… it could be hard to resist. Plus it’s a fun way to “own the right.” But when we use this narrative against Thomas, it reinforces both the validity and power of this narrative, which is harmful to a wide range of progressive goals.

The third story is the one progressives should tell, because it reinforces a narrative about achievement that we want to see broadly embraced. If more people saw success as a product of policies that address structural inequality (affirmative action, social services) and communities that practice cooperation and mutual aid (helping someone find a job, bringing someone food), we would be less likely to believe that everyone deserves their current place in the economic and social hierarchy. It means we’d be more likely to support those policies and to set norms that encourage collaboration over competition.

But often we don’t, because we prioritize damaging people like Thomas in the short term over undermining his world view in the long term. This is one of the places where messaging advice and narrative advice can come into conflict.

The word “narrative” is used a lot these days, but it is poorly understood. If each of these paragraphs about Thomas can be described as a story, the narratives I described are like meta-stories. They existing within a story and across many stories. When you read the first Thomas story, your brain quickly recognizes it as an “American Dream” meta-story. You’ve read many of these in your life. So even without me writing much, you slot Thomas into that category, and all of the other, similar, stories you have read allow you to make assumptions about the rest of his particular story. That American Dream meta-story is a narrative.

The same is true with the others version of Thomas’s life story. Because the dependency narrative is so common, it allows you quickly to see Thomas as a certain kind of person, even if I’ve only told you a few things about him. Likewise with the final version (although it is less common), which is more evocative of someone in a social movement, or a family, or the military — all spaces where the many lift up one another and where individual achievements are seen as a product of collective action.

Individual stories are specific to the subject matter. Narratives are general and can work across a range of subject matter. Some narratives are dominant, which means they are popular and powerful. Some narratives are not dominant, and are often in opposition or counter to the popular, dominant narratives. The first two stories reflect dominant (and conservative) narratives. The third story is a counter narrative. You can shift a narrative from opposition to dominance by telling it over and over again, reaching more and more people, until eventually they are more likely to recognize and relate to it than to the (formerly) dominant narrative.

So, what can we do? If you are telling a story — in writing, in art, in film and television, in media — be intentional about the narratives at play in your story. Since all of us are influenced by the dominant narratives, we incorporate them by default. Only by stepping back and thinking about narrative will we be able to shift our stories, and those experiencing our stories, towards a perspective that better reflects our values.