What Are We Doing? Reflections Inspired by Ursula K. Le Guin

Lately I have been thinking a lot about Ursula K. Le Guin’s novel The Word for World is Forest. I read it a few weeks ago and it has stayed with me ever since, especially this quote:

“But even the most unmissionary soul, unless he pretend he has no emotions, is sometimes faced with a choice between commission and omission. 'What are they doing?' abruptly becomes, 'What are we doing?' and then, 'What must I do?'”

That shift, from they to we, and finally to I, feels especially urgent right now.

Ursula K. Le Guin, author of The Word for World is Forest

Le Guin wrote this story in 1968 in the shadow of the Vietnam War, out of frustration with the destruction she saw unfolding at the hands of her state and the complicity of those who watched from a distance and continued living their lives, unbothered. And while she sets her story on another planet, the hard realities she questions painfully belong to our world. A world of power hierarchies, multiplying wars, ecological collapse, normalization of state violence, and, sadly, we could go on and on.

From the ongoing devastation in Palestine, to the rising insecurity in Ecuador, to the resurgence of anti-migrant narratives and dehumanizing politics across so many borders. It is clear we are still living inside the contradictions that Le Guin wrote about more than fifty years ago. The systems that claim to protect and represent us continue to fail the most basic principles of human rights.

And in the middle of all this, the easiest and most comfortable stand to take is to remain on the sidelines asking “What are they doing?” as if everything is happening far away, beyond our reach. As if we are powerless. But as Le Guin wrote, omission is also a form of action. Silence means taking sides.

Who allows injustice to flourish?

One of the most powerful and remarkable aspects of this novel, which, by the way, is no longer than 124 pages, is the antagonist Davidson. His ideology is based in domination, in otherness, in exploitation, in using unlimited violence to maintain power and control. He is brutal, and at times very uncomfortable to read about. But he is only one man. Around him stand many others who are not as openly violent, who may even consider themselves to be “moderate” and “reasonable”, but who still participate and benefit from the unjust system without questioning it. Or more importantly, without opposing it.

I believe this point is one of the most relevant gifts this book has to offer: a reminder that neutrality is never neutral. Le Guin demonstrates with unsettling clarity that you do not have to be openly oppressive to contribute to oppression. These systems that harm so many do not survive in extremism alone, they survive because of the passivity of those who prioritize order over justice, comfort over organizing, negative peace over confrontation. This gap between witnessing and acting, that has never in history been so wide due to the era of images we are currently living in, is where these unjust systems take root.

So I return to Le Guin's question: What are we doing? What must I do?

I do not have the correct answer, and I can not pretend to be an expert on creating change. But I would love to share with you some aspects that I believe should be considered when thinking about taking action. Things I remind myself of when I feel overwhelmed by the state of the world and I question my way forward in relation to these injustices.

The work should begin in understanding, and it should continue with taking action.

If we want something to change, we must first understand the forces at play shaping today's systems: how power operates and how people around the world have organized to transform their realities. There is a discipline in choosing to learn about the structures around us. It demands patience, study and many times to defy intellectual comfort. But this discipline matters because clear understanding strengthens clear action. 

Collective action is built from many small acts of courage.

It's normal to feel overwhelmed by the questions Le Guin poses, by the horrible things we see happening and by the amount of information that is waiting for our consumption. Sometimes these injustices happen far away, and sometimes they seem too big to be able to challenge. As a result of these doubts and discomforts the desire to act can fade.

But change has never required perfection.

It begins in the smallest choice, in acting how we can, however modestly. On doing something and refusing to do nothing. Change has never happened due to one person alone. The book reminds us that transformation is not an individual achievement. Actions become stronger when woven together in collective effort. But to get to collective action, us, as individuals, have to start somewhere.

Donate to your local foodbank. Show up to community meetings. Ask questions. Correct harmful comments. Go to the protest. Support labor unions. Send that email. Start conversations that feel uncomfortable and participate in that discussion. Support local organizations. Organize a fundraiser. Host that workshop. Organize in general. Prioritize community over convenience.

None of these actions will change the world entirely, but they will make that change more possible. No action is too small and no effort is wasted. A transformation that might seem insignificant to one may be immeasurable to someone else.

The possibility of justice is everywhere and it grows every time one person refuses to do nothing.

So I ask myself, and you too, what are we doing? What must I do? 

I hope we keep asking these questions even when the answers are uncomfortable. Especially then.

“If I sit silently, I have sinned.”- Mohammad Mossadeq