I want to demonstrate it for you more clearly. We’re sitting in the restaurant, and I have an air of sad expectation. I revert to silence, which is the most basic form of agreement, of disallowing any distance to emerge between the two of us. Oliver tells me he’s thinking about quitting a group he’s a part of. I am relieved. The group has the right intentions, but something about their process has always seemed off. I support their goals—basically good political goals—but I’ve never been able to get on board with the optimism that political work requires. I say, Bernie’s too old, and my statement is both true and disappointing. I disappoint myself by saying it. Oliver doesn’t seem to need to say that sentence to himself. But now the group’s affinity for internal drama is getting to be too much; it always knocks its knees as soon as it’s getting started with real work, preferring meetings to protests. They are a group that always says, “This is what we want to do,” and the pleasure is in announcing intention.

A couple months ago, I went to one of their meetings. Beforehand I’d asked whether, at the meeting, we would talk about a big piece of policy that had passed that week. They told me that that day’s agenda was full, the scheduled presenters had been waiting for months, and they would arrange something about the policy for a future meeting. To me, this was an unforgivable mistake; it’s more important to talk about what’s at the top of everyone’s mind than to honor the hours spent making PowerPoints. Oliver is losing faith that they will spring into action; I think the group has a lot to fight for, but it’s not personal enough for any of them.