Shooting and Crying

The focus of a recent conversation on the New York Times’s “The Opinions” podcast with Jia Tolentino and Hasan Piker, hosted by Nadja Spiegelman, was whether stealing from large corporations is justified and/or constitutes a meaningful form of protest or political action. Most of the controversy that ensued had to do with the fact that while Tolentino denied the latter (“Any successful direct action in history has to be ostentatious, has to make itself known, it’s ideally collective”), she affirmed the former, and not so sheepishly admitted to stealing from Whole Foods herself. Commentators expressed outrage at her glib affirmation of petty crime. What caught my attention however was something different altogether. It wasn’t a matter of questionable conduct, or a specious form of moral reasoning, per se. What struck me was a peculiar understanding of what it means to be moral at all.

Spiegelman ended the conversation by asking, “What’s one thing that you think should be OK but currently isn’t OK?” Piker answered briefly, “I.P. theft. Stealing movies, things like that.” But Tolentino struggled to answer the question directly:

One thing that should be legal that isn’t—it’s interesting, because I have to regularly explain this stuff to a small child, and have so thoroughly explained to her that some things are against the rules, but they’re OK, depending on who you are. And some things are not against the rules, but they’re not OK. There are so many perfectly legal things I do regularly that I find mildly immoral. Like getting iced coffee in a plastic cup. I find that to be a profoundly selfish, immoral, collectively destructive action. I have taken so many planes for so many pleasure reasons; I have acted in so many selfish ways that are not only legal, but they’re sanctioned and they’re unbelievably valorized, culturally. So, maybe things like blowing up a pipeline, let’s say that. (Emphasis mine.)

Spiegelman found this particularly relatable. “It is so hard to live ethically in an unethical society,” she agreed. “I’m constantly acting in ways that don’t align with my belief system. And constantly having to justify that, like ordering in food when it’s raining out … my comfort is more important than someone bringing me food through the rain. And it doesn’t feel good. But it is part of living—I mean, no one’s making me do that, but it is part of the way in which we live in our society.”

On the standard view of what it means to act in the light of moral knowledge—to act while possessing a capacity to tell right from wrong—when one confronts a moral injunction, say, “don’t do X,” one faces a choice between two courses of action: refrain from Xing or figure out why “don’t do X” is only apparently a moral injunction. Show, to yourself if not also to others, why it is, in general, or under these circumstances, okay to do X.

Both paths can be difficult. Not Xing may come at great personal cost, or one might really love Xing. And figuring out why it is actually okay to do X could be tricky because it might just not be okay to do X, at all; or the argument to the effect that Xing is fine, actually, might be elusive, requiring a lot of serious thinking; or these arguments may be such as to put one in conflict with oneself—with other beliefs one espouses and ways one conducts oneself—or with others, on whose companionship, or approval, or readership, one depends. In other words, the incentives to find ways to both do X and distance oneself from doing X, at one and the same time, are plentiful and powerful.

Jia Tolentino has always been particularly interested in such dilemmas. In her best-selling 2019 essay collection Trick Mirror, she wrote probingly about the difficulty of abstaining from Amazon, Ballet Barre, Sephora, expensive haircuts and salad chains. In 2026, she adds to these moral torments iced coffee in plastic cups and flying for pleasure. By her own admission, all of these temptations might be just the tip of the iceberg.

Tolentino’s curious confessions—“I do so many immoral things every day!” she jauntily reassured Spiegelman—put me in mind of an expression in Hebrew that is meant to capture a way of responding to the powerful incentives to do X and distance oneself from doing X at one and the same time: yorim ve bochim, “shooting and crying.”

Shooting and crying is a term of derision directed at the attitude that IDF soldiers and Israelis more generally have been known to take toward the violence they routinely employ. While it was first and mostly subsequently used to mock a certain kind of post-factum lament—soldiers complaining after the Six Day war, or the first Lebanon war, or the second Lebanon war, or the Gaza war, about the military’s conduct, the implicit idea is that the crying and the shooting might as well be contemporaneous. This is because, while in individual cases those accused of shooting and crying might have been expressing genuine moral contrition—indeed some of those blithely accused of shooting and crying have gone on to dedicate their lives to justice and reform—collectively, a certain kind of crying enables rather than curbs moral disaster. This is the kind of crying that is calibrated to express regret not for what one has done and should not have done so much as for what one, regrettably, had to do. In this way, the avowed hatred of violence absolves the personal and national conscience (cf. “I find that to be a profoundly selfish, immoral, collectively destructive action”) and thereby clears a path for its infinite repetition (cf. “I do so many immoral things every day”). At the same time, the professed “moral injury” to self turns the perpetrator into a victim (cf. “It is so hard to live ethically in an unethical society”). The problem with shooting and crying is that all too often you are not really crying for anyone but yourself.

Far be it from me to propose that a slippery slope leads from Ballet Barre to what Tolentino would be very happy to call a genocide. At the same time, Tolentino’s own moral trajectory does suggest, minimally, that one is liable to gain a certain facility with the move. Do it enough and shooting and crying starts to come easy.

by Anastasia Berg, The Point |  Read more:

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[ed. I love this term - shooting and crying. It applies to so many bad decisions and behaviors (especially former and present wars). After the fact contrition where before the fact certainty once ruled. If only we had known then what we know now. No. You were told then and refused to listen.]