The lost porter tradition at Massey College

Massey College, at the University of Toronto, is an important example of Canadian efforts to emulate the ‘OxBridge’ educational and college system at Oxford and Cambridge. I was pleased to join Massey as a junior fellow when I began my PhD in 2012, and found the college to be an indispensable social hub amid U of T’s general coldness. I was a resident during term time over three years but, for the rest of my PhD, still visited routinely to read, have lunch, or just see who was around. It used to be that any time I was passing the college I could drop in for a few minutes and have about a 1/3 chance of having a really interesting conversation, often with a stranger.

As with everything else, the COVID-19 pandemic locked down Massey College to residents only, staring nervously at each other through plastic dividers. Unfortunately, and as with many other pandemic disruptions, some important changes have carried through to the present. It used to be that at most times someone would care to go, such as evenings and weekend days, there would always be someone on duty in the porter’s lodge at Massey College. The gate would be open, and they would greet anyone who happened to turn up. Now the college is controlled by keyfobs and security cameras. Except for during business hours, there is usually nobody in the porter’s lodge. Instead of a gateway to a social community, the front gate is an impassable cage of metal that admits only key-bearing residents. Consequently the college is darker, emptier, and of less use.

I feel this has had an immense cost for the community, and a cost deeply linked to Massey’s purpose. Like Oxford and Cambridge colleges, it brings people together across scholarly domains. This helps them build relationships not excessively bound up in the competitiveness of those in the same field. It also fosters interdisciplinary collaboration. But, for such cross-community enrichment to take place, there needs to be a norm of community participation in college life, ideally extending beyond the set-piece events which the porter’s lodge will now be staffed for.

It often seems that the profoundest effect of the pandemic was to push people into smaller social circles. Friends who used to be at a particular event 10% or 20% of the time are now there never. Events that brought in 50 people bring in 20 or don’t happen at all. It’s like people had their pool of social energy diminished, and so chose to divvy it out among fewer people. In that context, the loss of accessible third spaces like Massey College outside of business hours is deeply felt. The closed gate in your face feels less like a pragmatic money-saving choice and more as a manifestation of a world where we have de-prioritized community.

Square one

Emotionally, I feel like I have been put in a metal barrel and rolled down a hill.

I feel like my identity, thoughts, and emotions have all become untrustworthy, leaving me no guidance on what feelings to trust or what to do. I feel very literally like I have lost my mind; I don’t know which fragments are the healthy seed crystals to begin reconstituting an identity from and which are toxic waste that need to be expelled or wrapped in an unreactive layer to advance that rebuilding process.

I feel like just being so distressed is costing me my only hope at a future, but there is also no way out of these omni-crises without expressing these feelings somehow.

[Edit: 1:09pm] I am not and have not at any point in this crisis been suicidal. No actions based on the assumption that I am or could be are justified. I emphatically do not want any strangers checking on my welfare, and any such imposition would only worsen matters.

Cause of struggling

I think a root cause for why I have been struggling so much with everything in life is that I am desperately fearful and unhappy, and I don’t know what to do about it. Our civilizational crisis makes me feel more anger, sadness, grief, and isolation than I know how to cope with. Since I don’t have a stable emotional platform, everything else feels precarious and I am constantly both anxious and self-rebuking for having ended up in this situation and not knowing what to do.

This sense of profound and inescapable crisis traces back at least to my time in government, when I realized that it is in no sense capable, or even directed toward, solving our actual problems. Our government works for the car companies and fossil fuel companies, and hardly thinks at all about the long-term future. Life since has felt like more rejection by dysfunctional systems. These emotions are intensely alienating, since people are naturally drawn to and want to please people who seem to have it all figured out, while they are repulsed by those in despair.

The world in which our minds and emotions evolved bears little resemblance to the world which they are now trying to cope with, leaving us unbalanced and floundering. It is hard to even imagine what the way out could be, when it seems like we citizens collectively respond to each new challenge and setback with another round of self-destructive choices. We see the cliff edge approaching, and choose to jam down the accelerator even harder.

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Controlling parents

I learned when I was very young — so young that I don’t even remember what age — that I needed to tightly control anything my parents knew about my life because, as soon as they became aware of something, they would decide what the right thing to do was, steamroll me, and insist that things be done in their way. I would explain my position, preferences, rationale. I would beg them not to take actions that would have predictable adverse consequences. Their implicit position was: “We know best, we have the power, and we get the final say”.

If I wanted to maintain any control over how a problem was solved, I had to solve it myself in secret. (Cue lifelong obsession with secrets, how they are kept and stolen.) Looking back, that did lead to a lot of cases where a bit of information could have helped me get through something tough far more easily. There were health issues where feeling ashamed of myself and unable to share anything sensitive with my parents led to me not finding effective treatments until late in adulthood. At the same time, my whole point is that such information was not available a la carte to be used or not based on my judgment. As soon as they were consulted, my parents took on final jurisdiction and authority. They would do what they thought was right, and often completely lie about it afterward when I brought up how I had understood the problem and what I had asked or begged them to do. If criticized, they would pout about it for a bit, and then assume they could go back to the normality of treating me however they wanted and expecting to be praised for it. To this day, they think most of my reactions are wrong and too strong and assume that normality is not just them getting to determine what should happen, but what I should think and feel as well.

Their dominating behaviour has not faded as I have grown up, and has had a massive effect on my psychology and relationships with others. I have a profound need for autonomy and control over my own life. It’s such a profound need that it eclipses the need to have relationships. It might be agonizing and sap my sense of self-worth, but I can endure with effectively no active relationships at all. I cannot function in situations where I never get space and autonomy to myself. Time with others is tiring, because I always need to be using a lot of my thinking power to run mental models of them and guess how they will react to words and actions (as my parents demanded of me in childhood and all through life, largely blocking me from being able to relax with them). I can do all that modelling and anticipation of others’ needs, but it drains me instead of recharging me. (Also unacceptable, since people who need praise always find it insulting if you experience their presence as a burden.)

These dynamics also shaped my view of authority as arbitrary and not grounded in practicality or ethics. People will exercise power to show people around them that they have power, or simply because of how it makes the person with authority feel, not necessarily for any good purpose or to achieve any good effect. Most leaders are substantially incompetent in many ways, and often use most of their time and effort to conceal this and mislead people about it. Most hierarchies operate to protect the higher-ups from the just consequences of their own actions, and to redistribute praise and blame so the hierarchy remains intact. With that perspective, I do not admire the institutions that dominate our society. Nor do I expect them to be able to resolve the crisis which our species is collapsing into more rapidly with each passing day.

There is a deeply ingrained societal expectation that status equals goodness: if someone is a president or a king or a chief executive officer it means they act legitimately and with concern for the welfare of others. My experiences with governments and other institutions have created much the opposite expectation: leaders will put on a show of apparent nobility, but their moral commitments are always superficial and systematically de-emphasized in favour of ‘practicality’ or ‘efficiency’ or (behind the scenes) to preserve relationships with other powerful people. Our leaders are neither wise nor noble, but more like action movie stars who the public assumes are super tough because of what stunt men, editing, and computer graphics did.

I don’t understand why young people today are not in open revolt against our leaders, who are unambiguously destroying their prospects for the future. Part of that may come from the psychologically active remnants of the idea that status and nobility are the same thing. Part is a semi-apathetic assertion of the very opposite — that the system is so entrenched and exploitative that nothing can dislodge it or change things. Part is surely just that living through the catastrophe of our collapsing civilization has left young people less well equipped to understand their situation and take action about it.

Constant fear that anyone who you rely on will control and dominate you has many complex psychological effects. Most paradoxically, it creates profound fear about my own real self and its vulnerability to corrosion — the fear that complying with compulsion will erase me. It exhausts and infuriates me to have to mis-represent myself for social or pragmatic reasons, because it feels like giving in to the erasure of people who will me to be a certain way, whether I want it or not, and whether it is honest or not. This goes over really badly in an employment landscape where cheerful flattering deception of one’s bosses is the sine qua non of career progression. I can’t just ‘go along to get along’ or ‘tell them what they want to hear’ because that positions whoever I am placating as a kind of pseudo-parent with the same assumed right to control what I think and feel.

One weird historical echo is that my parents moved cross-continent from the east to the west coast to escape their controlling and disapproving parents. One advantage of my commitment to never having children is not having to worry about the next iteration of this progression from parental treatment in childhood to adult psychology.

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