Cynicism Is Not the Cure

Imperfect Allies and Dangerous Distractions: Why the ‘Not Good Enough’ Narrative Misses the Point

Lately, I’ve been watching a growing wave of criticism on the left—criticism of Democrats, of liberal voters, of performative activism, of celebrity involvement in social movements. Some of it is valid. Much of it is sharp. But too often, it’s steeped in a kind of cynicism that feels less like a commitment to truth and more like a performance of disillusionment. And I can’t shake the feeling that it’s doing more harm than good.

Because while the critiques are often aimed at the center or the left, they start to echo something else entirely: the dark fantasies of the far right. Fantasies rooted in racism and sexism, in binaries and hierarchies, in fear and control. Fantasies that divide the world into worthy and unworthy, strong and weak, superior and inferior. Fantasies that flatten reality into something simple, brutal, and false.

And I don’t think we can fight fantasy with fantasy—even if ours comes dressed in sharper language and better aesthetics.

We have to stay grounded in something harder: reality.

Reality is messy. People are complicated. We don’t all know the same things at the same time. Our beliefs are shaped by our experiences, our traumas, our communities, and our access to information. Sometimes the white mom shows up to a protest with her kids and treats it like a block party. Cringe, maybe—but she’s there. And she’s watching. Listening. Becoming. Maybe not today, maybe not in front of you, but growth doesn’t need to be witnessed to be real.

If we shun or shame every imperfect attempt to engage, we shut the door on people who might grow into the allies—or the leaders—we need. And worse, we start to mirror the rigidity of the systems we claim to oppose.

The cynicism that says “it’s all broken, nothing matters, everyone’s fake” might feel smart—but it doesn’t build anything. It doesn’t organize, or protect, or liberate. It just critiques from the sidelines while the people who are building—often for deeply harmful goals—keep moving forward.

We have to resist the urge to let the perfect be the enemy of the good. Not because we’re settling—but because this moment demands strategic, sustained, human work. If we want to win the long game—not just in November, but in the 6–10 years ahead—we need to be cultivating patience, realism, and connection. We need to stop waiting for movements or leaders to be flawless before we support them. And we need to stop pretending that shrewd detachment is the same thing as vision.

It’s not.

What’s visionary is the belief that people can change. That democracy, while deeply flawed, is still worth defending. That transformation is possible—even if it starts awkwardly, even if it doesn’t look the way we want it to.

This isn’t a call to silence critique. It’s a call to root it in belief—belief that people can change, that movements can mature, that even flawed efforts can be part of something larger. That what begins as spectacle might, through time and care, become substance.

I’ve seen it happen. I’ve lived it. And I’ve also been the person who thought I “got it” before I really did. Most of us have. Growth is often invisible until it isn’t.

So when I say cynicism isn’t a strategy, I don’t mean don’t be critical. I mean don’t mistake critique for carelessness. Don’t mistake superiority for insight. And don’t mistake being right for being helpful.

The work ahead is slow, imperfect, human. And it’s worth doing anyway.

PS:

This perspective isn’t just something I believe in theoretically—it’s the foundation of my work as an artist and teaching artist. I’ve seen again and again how inner work leads to outward change. How personal growth creates ripples that strengthen relationships, communities, and movements. So when I ask us to resist cynicism, I’m asking from a place of experience: when we begin the work within, we become more powerful, more clear, and more connected.

Journal or Art Journal Prompt:

When I feel critical or disillusioned, what’s the story I’m telling myself about what should be happening?

What does that story reveal about my values, my fears, or my unmet needs?

How might I channel that energy into something creative, connective, or constructive?