A Rare and Special Thing

A short note on redemption arcs and who deserves them

Back in 2019, I took a visit to Berlin. It was a lovely trip, but there's one part in particular I want to talk about: my tour of Sachsenhausen concentration camp. It's not one of the most famous camps, like Auschwitz, and largely housed political prisoners, but it was still very much a Nazi death camp. We all know the monstrous things that were perpetrated at such camps, to the point that we believe we understand. But to stand where they happened and reflect on the sheer inhumanity required for it all to take place? It's a genuinely chilling experience.

There's just one small moment of that visit I've been thinking about a lot lately. It wasn't the gas chambers where people were systematically killed, the medical areas where they were experimented on, the tiny and filthy living quarters they were forced into. It was a small guardhouse right outside the main gates. In its current state as a museum, this building has been converted into an exhibit on the people who worked at this camp and kept it running. There was one I saw, whose name I no longer remember, but whose description I'll never forget.

He was an especially brutal guard who enjoyed tormenting the prisoners. When the Nazi regime fell, he was able to duck prosecution for his role. Instead, he wound up in a small town in Austria. He got married. He had children. He became a respected figure in the local community. None of them knew what he'd done just a few years earlier.

I can't recall exactly how that story ended . I think he may have been eventually found by investigators in the 1950's. When the truth came out, he killed himself rather than face accountability. But that's not the point to me. The point is that for over a decade, he successfully avoided that accountability. Whatever German society itself was going through, for this man, it was like his crimes had never happened.

This newsletter is supposed to be about analyzing media though. So let me tell you about one of my favorite webcomics. It's called Order of the Stick, and it's a fairly silly D&D parody that manages to tell one of the best fantasy stories I've read along the way. Like most long-term projects it grows immensely in quality and complexity over time, so you may need to stick with it for some time to agree. But if you have any interest in D&D or fantasy tropes in general, I highly recommend it. As a DM myself, it's helped me be much more mindful about the tropes I deploy in my story and to what purpose I put them.

There's one very pointed example I'd like to mention. It concerns one of the most common stories we tell: a redemption arc. Everyone loves a good redemption arc. Perhaps seeing someone once so odious find a way to become kind and caring makes us feel that our own worst qualities can be worn away with time. Maybe we'd like to believe that humankind itself can always be saved, no matter our faults. Whatever the reason, whether it's Jamie Lannister in Game of Thrones or the titular Grinch, we love seeing someone succumb to their better angels.

In this example, it concerns a character who had just struck a major blow against the villains after making some very misguided and consequential decisions. I don't want or need to go into the specific details here (they constitute pretty heavy spoilers regardless). The important part is the response of a character she respects when she asks about her own redemption. The full passage is here, but I'll quote the relevant sections:

“I'm truly sorry, but redemption requires more than the execution of your duty...True redemption demands that you seek forgiveness for your past misdeeds. That you atone for [your actions]. That you even acknowledge that you could, in fact, be wrong. You have done none of this. Perhaps, if you had more time...but then again, perhaps not. Redemption is a rare and special thing, after all. It is not for everyone.”

This is an important point to keep in mind when we consider stories of redemption. They usually do end with a dramatic action for good after a lifetime of bad. Think of Darth Vader tossing the Emperor into the core of the Death Star after 30 years serving as his right-hand man. But how much does that really make up for what they've done? It's easy to dismiss this as just expedited storytelling, a symbol that stands in for that hard work. And that's fair enough for a fictional work. But fiction influences how we think about the world, and it's critical we realize how insufficient this is.

Redemption is possible for anyone. I do believe that. But just because it is possible does not mean it will happen. And sometimes we are so desperate to believe in its possibility that we will grant it when it's not warranted. A last minute about-face is not a redemption. That requires hard work, it requires atonement, it requires acknowledgment of what you've done. If you haven't done any of that, your words are hollow. And if we collectively decide to let it slide, what end does that serve?

This is something I'm thinking about a lot right now when I see people who have spent years stoking racism, xenophobia, conspiracies, and lies suddenly declaim the consequences of those actions. It is all well and good, once the violence has erupted, to say this is never what you wanted. It may even be true. But what is the use if you refuse to acknowledge what you've done that has lead to this moment? If you will not recant those positions and try to mend the divides you have created? To say that everything up until the point of violent insurrection is true and good is to invite more of it, no matter how much you denounce the act itself.

The Ted Cruzes and Josh Hawleys of the world can say whatever they like. What they do not say speaks volumes louder. If they refuse to accept their responsibility, then that responsibility must be forced on them. To be stripped of their positions of incredible power is the most minor of consequences, and even that little is being resisted, but if it does not happen then they have given every indication that they will bring us back to this point. And those who decide now is the time to take a stand, to resign or release a statement? I have little patience for them either. The only proper response is: what are you going to actually do about it? To refuse to look at the blood on your hands does not make it go away, and none of us are obligated to pretend that it does.