In a culture defined by the pursuit of happiness, as if it were to slip away, how does one define happiness?  Will it be braided into my hair with silver and gold, which is how liberation is sold? Or will it be woven into applause to ensure that we don’t glare too hard at those defending a broken system with teeth and claws?  Is the pursuit of happiness a pursuit of power? Is happiness liberation?  Or is it when we break the ranks, and command the tanks?  

Academia births the critique. Academics birth the need for endless validation. Outside the jargon lies a world divided by despair and delight. I don’t blame them. These aren’t good times. We need hope.  

For keen observers of geopolitics, it may feel like the end of times is upon us. The war in Ukraine has entered its fourth year. Promises of ceasefire begin and are broken. Rollbacks on DEI continue. The ticking clock ticks away at the climate crisis, as talks of tariffs take over.  

Mindful morality becomes the norm as any critique of the imperial core is met with scrutiny, Scrutinized speech thereafter gives birth to the silent generation that practices politics in private. At the same time, politics take over the public.  

It’s days like these, I enjoy revisiting “The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas”, a 1973 award-winning short fiction by Ursula K. Le Guin. Situated in the imaginary town of Omelas, home to the happiest people. The people of Omelas are not simple folks, writes author Ursula Le Guin, they were not barbarians either. What can I say? They were complex people to say the very least.  

"Yet I repeat that these were not simple folk, not dulcet shepherds, noble savages, bland utopians. They were not less complex than us. The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain. If you can't lick 'em, join 'em. If it hurts, repeat it. But to praise despair is to condemn delight, to embrace violence is to lose hold of everything else. We have almost lost hold; we can no longer describe a happy man, nor make any celebration of joy. How can I tell you about the people of Omelas? They were not naive and happy children – though their children were, in fact, happy. They were mature, intelligent, passionate adults whose lives were not wretched. O miracle! but I wish I could describe it better. I wish I could convince you." Ursula Le Guin (1973)

BTS, Spring Day, 2017

There is however a catch, to the joyous city of Omelas. The perpetual misery of a lone child shapes it. The child resides in a basement, with a locked door, and no windows. You see, Ursula Le Guin’s city of Omelas is built on the bare broken back of a child  

"Perhaps it was born defective, or perhaps it has become imbecile through fear, malnutrition, and neglect. It picks its nose and occasionally fumbles vaguely with its toes or genitals, as it sits hunched in the corner farthest from the bucket and the two mops. It is afraid of the mops. It finds them horrible. It shuts its eyes, but it knows the mops are still standing there, and the door is locked, and nobody will come." In New Dimensions (pp 10-23).

The people of Omelas, know of the child. They also somehow seem to understand that the serenity of their peaceful city is serrated through the torture of the boy. The paradox of joy is well understood amongst those who understand. Some make sense of the injustice. While others continue oscillating between being human and humane.   

As for those who cannot, they leave Omelas and never come back. They leave and never come back. They never look back. Suffering is one thing but bearing witness to suffering is another. But what if the suffering is too much for you to bear?  To leave is to disapprove of the architecture of the joyous city. But to assume staying is an acceptance of the existing order is to presume every resident of Omelas has the means to leave. Which leads me to wonder, how does one resist in the joyous city of Omelas? "After all to praise despair is to condemn delight, and to embrace violence is to lose hold of everything else." 

I may not have answers but I end this article with a question. The very same question Ursula Le Guin probably battled while writing ‘The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” - How does one walk away from Omelas?