Burnout: The Emotional Experience of Political Defeat - Hannah Proctor
Published in 2024 by Verso, London, UK and Brooklyn, NY
272 pages
ISBN: 9781839766053
As Leftists in America, one of the most salient and persistent themes that we face is the fact of failure. Seemingly condemned to a two-party system that serves the same right-wing interests, American politics has historically been unkind to any Leftist opposition. Fueled by decades of Red Scare propaganda followed by the consolidation of neoliberal hegemony, opposition to Leftists has been virulent and effective. It can be argued that the history of Leftism in the 20th century was also a history of failure, as progressive leaders across the globe were either electorally defeated, forcibly overthrown, or outright assassinated.
In more recent history, the defeat of the Bernie Sanders campaigns in both 2016 and 2020 along with the defeat of Jeremy Corbyn’s Labour leadership in 2019 came as crushing blows to a burgeoning democratic socialist movement in the United States and Britain. Now that it has become blatantly obvious (even to liberals) that Bidenism dismally failed to stem the rising tide of far-right sentiments and scapegoating, progressives once again find ourselves the target of vicious attacks from the Right, who wield executive, legislative, and judicial power in the United States.
In the wake of all of the defeats that we have faced in the past century, it is all too easy for Leftists to fall into despair. After countless hours of community organizing, protesting in the streets, setting up mutual aid networks, canvassing for progressive local offices, denouncing genocides, boycotting corporations, and fighting like hell against the rising tide of fascism, it can easily feel as if all of our efforts have been for naught. Exhaustion can easily settle in, brewing bitterness, resentment, apathy, and despair.
Despite the need to keep fighting for change, we often ignore these emotions to our peril. In her 2024 book, Burnout: The Emotional Experience of Political Defeat, historian Hannah Proctor surveys the history of failed revolutionary movements, examining how the activists and revolutionaries who were left behind in its aftermath grappled with the complex emotions of defeat.
Overview:
Divided into eight chapters devoted to different emotional states (melancholia, nostalgia, depression, burnout, exhaustion, bitterness, trauma, and mourning), Burnout explores the emotional and psychological impacts of political defeat, focusing on the sense of burnout that activists, organizers, and political participants may experience after a prolonged struggle against seemingly insurmountable forces. Proctor examines how the feeling of failure and exhaustion can be central to understanding the emotional landscapes of political activism and work. She delves into the disconnect between the fervid intensity of the political struggle and the often disappointing results, noting that such defeat can lead to feelings of hopelessness, alienation, exhaustion, and burnout.
The book also reflects on how political movements and organizations may fail to address the emotional needs of their members, instead focusing primarily on external victories or goals. Proctor encourages a broader understanding of political work, one that includes emotional resilience and care, and urges a rethinking of what it means to be politically engaged in the face of continuous setbacks. Proctor also raises critical questions about the sustainability of activism and the importance of acknowledging the emotional labor involved in political struggle. She emphasizes how we must attend to our psychic needs as well as our material needs, which often go neglected or ignored in the revolutionary struggle. These needs, Proctor argues, must not be interpreted as individualistic or simply bourgeois, but rather as collective and necessary for effective action.
Deeper Dive:
The book is divided into three main sections, each addressing the theory and history of various negative emotions and how they have been understood in the context of collective struggles for emancipation. Proctor approaches each of these topics through the lens of Marxist historiography and psychoanalytic theory in order to recenter the role that our psychic states play in the totality of anticapitalist thought and action. Through her survey of emotive states, Proctor utilizes case studies from across the globe, including BLM protests, struggles against the Chilean dictatorship of Pinochet, Bolsheviks recovering after the October Revolution, Chinese peasants engaging in radical acts of self-criticism, former Communards (members of the Paris Commune of 1871) facing exile, and many more.
Along the way, Proctor weaves her own experiences and struggles with emotional weariness into the narrative, highlighting the defeat of Jeremy Corbyn in 2019 and her own feelings of alienation and depression she felt when she lived in Berlin. Through these experiences and events, Proctor aims to offer the reader an alternative to either denial or despair by opening the possibility of simultaneously struggling for justice while grieving and healing (187). By examining how activists and militants have made sense of their own mental suffering throughout the past century and a half, Proctor provides us with ample evidence that the negative emotions we experience in the political realm are nothing new, but still deserve our utmost attention.
In the first section, Proctor addresses the historical dimensions of melancholia, nostalgia, and depression. Instead of providing a longer history of melancholia and how it has been understood across cultures, Proctor instead focuses narrowly on the concept of “left-melancholy.” Utilizing the work of left-wing thinkers such as Stuart Hall, Jacqueline Rose, Walter Benjamin, Wendy Brown, Jodi Dean, and Enzo Traverso, Proctor illuminates the recent debates regarding the role of the “lost object” within melancholia, which often incapacitates left-wing movements from moving forward and recovering from defeat.
The chapter on nostalgia focuses almost exclusively on the Paris Commune of 1871. Following the Commune's defeat, over 4,000 Communards were exiled to the archipelago of New Caledonia in the South Pacific. While the Commune became a powerful symbol for revolutionaries and is often looked back on romantically by contemporary Leftists, Proctor tempers this rose-colored perspective by recounting the experiences of these Communards in exile. As such, by highlighting this tension between “moribund nostalgia (backward-looking, stultifying) and political nostalgia (forward-facing, energizing),” Proctor's analysis seeks to examine how “subjective experiences of defeat might add nuance to how the left relates to its past and how that might, in turn, inform its relation to the future” (43).
The chapter on depression begins with Proctor opening up about her own struggles with “the enveloping texture of depression, which “seemed to arrive from nowhere” (63). She takes her own dissonance she experienced between her depression and her withdrawal from political activism as a starting point for analyzing the fraught relationship between depression and politics. While surveying a wide breadth of thinkers, Proctor centers her attention on the contrasting works of Kate Millett and Shulamith Firestone, and how they each grappled with and understood mental illness.
The second section of Burnout explores the feelings of burnout, exhaustion, and bitterness that can so often arise after years of failed political efforts. The titular feeling, of burnout, is traced back to its conceptual origins of the free clinic movement in San Francisco during the 70s. These clinics were set up to provide free, judgment-free healthcare to the local community, often offering services to drug users. Proctor draws parallels between the changing use of the term to the life trajectory of the one who coined it, Herbert Freudenberger. Originally a part of the free clinic movement, Freudenberger defined burnout to describe the exhaustion that people feel from helping others.
While it originally was used in the context of volunteers serving in roles aiding minority communities and seeking to transform society, the term gradually shifted to encompass those who continually struggle to fit into society. This key distinction also follows Freudenberger’s life trajectory, as he gradually shifted from a “politically engaged free clinic volunteer to corporate consultant,” reflecting how radical initiatives can all too easily be co-opted into the dominant establishment that they sought to challenge (95). To counter this, Proctor suggests the construction of small-scale caring collectives to alleviate symptoms of burnout in the short term, but only structural change can ameliorate suffering on a larger scale.
Proctor’s chapter on exhaustion examines “the psychological toll of keeping going over long periods of time, experiences of engagement in different cycles of struggle across lifetimes, and efforts to sustain momentum in the face of disillusionment” (105). Proctor emphasizes the tension between the desperate urgency for political change with the energy-draining qualities of life that make such transformation so much more difficult. In her historical survey, Proctor primarily focuses her attention on the aftermath of the October Revolution, detailing the exhaustion of the Bolsheviks and the exhaustion and despair that ensued for revolutionaries after Lenin’s death. Proctor also turns her attention toward literature, as she examines two literary works by Toni Cade Bambara: “The Apprentice” and The Salt Eaters, revealing how they each explore the tensions between the urgency of collective struggle and the individual healing from weariness.
The chapter on bitterness focuses on the various forms of consciousness-raising and shaming that can all too often devour the Left from within. Proctor highlights the various practices of “self-criticism” that more often than not serve purity tests, reproducing the very conditions of violence that they pronounce to reject. Proctor highlights the practice of self-criticism by Chinese Maoist peasants, consciousness-raising practices during feminist circles in New York during the 1970s, and the practices of the Weather Underground in order to critique how radical organizations can inadvertently reproduce violence within their own ranks when they do not have the patience for the messiness of internal change.
In the third and final section, Proctor attempts to build upon her concept of “anti-adaptive healing” as she examines both trauma and mourning. Her chapter on trauma focuses primarily on the development of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), which was originally diagnosed as a response to soldiers needing psychiatric treatment after their return from Vietnam. Gradually, as right-wing framing of the war became increasingly prominent in the decades after its end, PTSD became increasingly depoliticized, measured, and detached from the social and political conditions that predicate it. Proctor also explores varying concepts of trauma through the work of Avery Gordon, including marking a difference between regressive trauma (which is fixated on the horror of a past moment that cannot be escaped) and haunting (which makes demands and opens up possibilities for a different future). Finally, Proctor also examines the work of Chilean filmmaker Patricio Guzmán as a constructive response to the brutal repression and dictatorship of Pinochet.
Finally, Proctor’s chapter on mourning seeks to critique Freud’s concept of grief in his work, Mourning and Melancholia (1917). Following the thought of Jacqueline Rose, Proctor takes issue with Freud’s conceptualization of grief as a temporary process of mourning the “lost object” before returning back to a state of normalcy. By contrast, Proctor posits that mourning never reaches a measurable end, but rather can be utilized for political transformation through a form of “mournful militancy.” As Proctor writes, “Mournful militancy is not a lament but a demand. Mournful militants do not look melancholically at the past but intervene with rage and with care in the present for the sake of the living” (202).
Commendations:
Burnout has many core strengths that are well worth commending. First and foremost, it is, if nothing else, timely in its content. Currently, the Left has faced yet another round of defeat in the United States, as our warnings to Democrats regarding the unpopularity of Biden and Harris were left unheeded or treated with hostility, thus leading to the inevitable return of Trump to the White House and Republicans in control of Congress. Instead of stepping back to perform any form of self-examination or reflection, Democrats have once again chosen to blame progressives and leftists.
Despised by both liberals and conservatives, we on the Left are now faced with an even more difficult challenge of fighting against an unabashed kleptocratic regime backed by the power of the state and the military. As many of us who organize know, burnout is a prominent theme that plagues social justice activism. As such, Proctor’s work reminds us that these feelings of despair and despondency are nothing new, as she connects our contemporary feelings with those held by comrades and activists across history.
Accordingly, Proctor shows ample empathy and compassion towards activists and organizers, and she recognizes the psychological burdens that come with the work. She inserts her own personal experiences with depression and exhaustion, and This emotional sensitivity adds nuance to the discussion of activism, considering not only the material outcomes of political work but the personal, affective dimensions. She addresses the challenge of simultaneously healing and fighting head-on, making it highly relevant to contemporary discussions about the sustainability of activism, mental health, and political participation.
Additionally, I deeply appreciated Proctor’s theoretical approach, blending Marxist, psychoanalytic, and feminist critiques. This interdisciplinary approach allows her to fill in many gaps and blind spots that each approach might possess when wielded alone. She reminds us that these words are mutable and ever-fluid, and her historical approach allows us to see how the various terms we utilize to describe our inner world have been shaped by the social context in which we live. By highlighting the importance of psychic life, Proctor successfully links political struggles with broader social and emotional patterns. For example, in her chapter on trauma, Proctor links the changing diagnostic criteria of PTSD with the gradual individualization of trauma, rather than focusing on social causes of mental illness. These critiques reminded me of Mark Fisher’s work on the social roots of mental illness, who is a sorely missed voice on the Left today.
Furthermore, Proctor takes an often-overlooked perspective, focusing on the emotional consequences of political defeat rather than just the mechanics of political struggle or success. This perspective helps to deepen our understanding of what it means to engage in activism and how the emotional toll of defeat can shape political engagement. Proctor encourages readers to rethink conventional political narratives by considering emotional well-being and care as essential components of political engagement. This critical reimagining can inspire new ways of organizing and building political movements.
More pointedly, Proctor rightly criticizes a contingent of the Left that is obsessed over ideological purity. The bemusing fact that “No one hates Leftists more than other Leftists” has practically become a meme at this point. One of the unfortunate realities of progressives (especially in the West) is their tendency to cannibalize themselves, which Proctor illustrates is nothing new. This splintering of the Left into smaller units of particularist grievances has degraded its influence and declawed its power to affect substantive change. Ideological gatekeeping continues to be a problem in many Leftist spaces, and Proctor correctly denounces this tendency as self-defeating. Instead, she calls on us to embrace the messiness of human fallibility, recognizing that internal changes and shifts in perspective often take a long time to metabolize and crystallize into tangible action. No one is a “perfect revolutionary,” and we must be patient and open to the differences within the Other if we ever hope to build coalitions that can challenge the dominant powers of capital.
Finally, Proctor correctly calls on Leftists to resist the allures of both nostalgia and defeatism. All too often, we can look at the revolutionary movements of the post with a kind of rose-colored optimism, often calling on comrades to “just keep fighting” while overlooking the deep and painful struggles that our fellow activists feel on an individual level. On the other hand, we also can fall into the trap of nihilistic, black-pilled doom scrolling, forever lamenting our current state of affairs and believing that there is no real hope for change. Proctor pushes back against both of these tendencies, as she uncovers the real and salient negative emotions that we often feel after years of continuous defeat while also attempting to channel this deep discontent into a constructive force for change.
Critique:
On the other hand, there are a few notable weaknesses in Proctor’s account. First, the book is a bit fragmented and disjointed in its content. Though Proctor would argue that this is purposeful, it still lends itself to an uneven reading experience, as it can often feel like there’s not a strong through-line to connect all of these disparate thoughts and emotions that Proctor covers. This aspect, however, didn’t bother me too much, as Proctor seems to be offering a series of reflections on how these emotive states have been understood and debated throughout the past century or so rather than a tightly constructed narrative or argument.
In addition, despite the subject of the book being centered around visceral emotions, the writing more often than not seemed to be a bit detached and cold. Except for her introduction to the chapter on depression and the conclusion, Proctor’s writing comes across as more academic and abstract, rather than fully grounded in the dirt and grime of on-the-ground struggle. While it is not necessarily a negative, the book doesn’t feel like a result of sustained political involvement, but rather a more detached academic examination of how these emotions have been understood.
Relatedly, Proctor’s tendency to write academically can be alienating for the majority of readers. There are plenty of valuable insights throughout this work, but it's too often buried under a dearth of academic jargon. The theoretical nature of the book might be a barrier for some readers. Proctor's analysis can sometimes feel abstract or dense, especially for those without a background in political theory or the emotional dynamics of activism. This might limit the book's accessibility to a wider audience.
This is often not aided by the structure of each chapter, which reads more like a highly curated historiography than a robust and wholly original work. Proctor often begins each chapter with quotes and excerpts from historical activists and revolutionaries who were on the front lines of struggle. Then, Proctor will summarize the commentaries of a handful of social theorists, psychoanalysts, and other scholars before finally offering her own interpretation. While this can be insightful to see the contrasting ways in which historical figures and their inner lives have been theorized and understood within the walls of academia, it too often works to alienate the reader, especially since the vocabulary used within these discourses can be highly specific.
Overall, the writing in this work seems to be aimed at fellow scholars, rather than the average reader, which is deeply unfortunate for the wider application of this book’s ideas. While I am familiar with most of the ideas presented throughout this volume, those without much background in Marxist thought or psychoanalytic theory might find themselves mired in too much inside baseball to care much by the time they get to Proctor’s own thoughts at the end of each chapter. While there is plenty of great history within this text, Proctor often assumes the reader has a deep familiarity with the historical context and social theory that she covers, which narrows the reach and impact of this work.
Additionally, While Proctor hints at a different way forward in harnessing these emotions, such as orienting trauma toward the future instead of the past, there is very little in terms of practical application. While the book offers a compelling analysis of the emotional impact of political defeat, it does not provide clear, actionable solutions for addressing negative psychic states within political movements. Readers may come away with a sense of greater understanding, but will most likely not have concrete tools to combat or mitigate the effects of burnout. While theorists and activists might get some insight from the small nuances that Proctor brings forth, it will likely have little impact outside of these small, academic, and politically engaged circles.
Finally, while Proctor utilizes a wide range of historical case studies from across the globe, her utilization of social theorists and scholars tends to be overwhelmingly white and Western. Thus, all too often, Proctor writes about events that take place in China, Russia, and Chile, but then overwhelmingly relies on Western (typically European) theorists to elucidate and try to grapple with the feelings of activists and revolutionaries within these specific contexts. Thus, while many of the case studies are diverse, they are often understood and interpreted from a bourgeois Western perspective. Expanding her analysis to include a wider range of case studies or global perspectives, including bringing in theorists from the Global South, might have broadened the applicability of her insights.
Conclusion:
Overall, Burnout is an incredibly insightful, if limited, historical examination of the negative emotions that all too often accompany political defeat. While Proctor’s overly academic language and narrow application of social theory might alienate all but the most sympathetic and engaged readers, Proctor’s work still offers plenty of valuable insights into the intersection of emotional labor and political activism. Burnout is a thought-provoking and timely work that shines a light on an often-overlooked aspect of political work. While its theoretical depth and focus on emotional labor are major strengths, it may fall short in providing practical solutions or providing a different way forward between denial and despair. For those interested in the emotional dimensions of activism, the book provides keen insights into the multilayered, complex web of emotions that accompany wave after wave of political defeat.
Feelings of exhaustion, depression, bitterness, and burnout are all too present and salient within the hearts and minds of Left-wing activists across the globe, and they must be reckoned with in meaningful ways if we hope to gather the willpower to keep fighting for change. Proctor admits in her conclusion that, in examining the history of negative emotions, she might only inspire despair, instead of offering hope. Yet, through examining how difficult experiences have been framed and understood throughout the last century and a half, Proctor illustrates that we are not alone in experiencing defeat. She shows us that these negative emotions are historically contingent, socially constructed, and entirely mutable, but also long-standing and ever-salient in our contemporary context. Proctor doesn’t attempt to clean up the messiness of emotional experience or try to make the bitter pill of defeat easier to swallow. Instead, she allows us to sit and be present in these feelings, reminding us that while the flame of revolution might be dim in our present moment, it is still flickering with life.