Chain Gang All Stars

“I LOVE YOU, the whole world screamed […] She was a vessel for it, love, and every deathmatch she preached it explicitly. Love, love, love. She forced love into this loveless space, made it the subject of her life. She showed them that she, the Hurricane, was capable of great love, and that if they’d look they’d see they were too. And maybe someday they would understand what they’d enabled, what they’d created.”

Staxxx, likewise, showcases Love and Forgiveness as Restorative Justice from the beginning. Although she has a troubled past, she refuses to be defined by it. Instead, she preaches love in a bleak place, an act of resistance that helps the collective effort toward restorative justice.

“She tried to absorb these moments, these few moments in her life when she was not being observed by hundreds of thousands, but instead was just under the watch of a few weak men. When there were no cameras floating up her ass, asking her to be the Hurricane. Here she could regret freely, she could hope openly, she could be herself. She tried to think of herself specifically.

[…]

One of the guards hit her in the ribs with his baton […] ‘Come on, convict.’ She wanted to enjoy this time with the self she hardly ever got to see. She could feel a deep dread, the adrenaline comedown, a headache, and a hard fear of the retribution that could come for her in one of so many ways. She told herself that she was Hamara Stacker. She told herself that she was Hurricane Staxxx. Then she told herself that she was also neither of those people.”

The tension between the characters’ regular names and the nicknames they’re given as celebrities in the CAPE program highlights the dissociative effect of having one’s identity co-opted for profit. Staxxx struggles to decide who she is—Hamara, Hurricane, neither, or both. Rediscovering her identity has been made more difficult by intrusive thoughts resulting from post-traumatic stress disorder and anxiety

“We do not excuse him or the chaos and pain he thrust into the world, but because we see and know that what he did in a moment of confusion and rage was an assault on all that is sacred, we must remember and see that what we’ve done to him in retribution has promised him that he was right. Retribution of the same kind promises he was not wrong but rather that he was small. To punish this way is to water a seed.”

One of the main arguments supporting the novel’s CAPE program, as well as the real world’s prison industrial complex, is that people who have committed violent crimes like murder and rape are so dangerous that they must be locked away for the safety of everyone else. However, the novel notes that since mass incarceration exacerbates society’s problems, it only encourages more crime in the long run.

“But what really bothered Wil, and he could tell it bothered others by the flavor of their yells, the spattering of boos, and the volume—extremely loud but could be louder—was that before them, down on the BattleGround, which he could take in fully because of the awesome seats he’d scored, he could so easily see how in jeans and sneakers, a cooking pot in his hands, Teacup appeared very much a lamb. And watching a lamb get slaughtered was not good sporting.”

Throughout the text, fans become upset whenever the unfair and violent nature of CAPE is made explicit, such as when Thurwar must fight a 16-year-old child. However, most of the time, it’s easy for the public to ignore the humanity of the Links, especially because the GameMasters have used dehumanizing marketing strategies. Even here, in a moment of supposed empathy, Wil still refers to the child with the distancing and sacrificial term “lamb” instead of seeing Teacup as a person.

“It ain’t no happy place.

Late in the day we all tired, and late in the day last man is especially tired. Worse than tired. Wobbly and crooked. We work for nothing. We work and work for no money. We did wrong so now we slaves. Work for nothing on the inside for people on the outside. Yes. Slaves in a mean box. That’s all.”

Young names his situation as enslavement, and this is not hyperbole—in the real US, enslavement labor conditions for incarcerated people are legal. This highlights The Violence of Capitalism because, like Young points out, he and others work in dangerous and violent conditions to financially benefit the corporation that owns the prison holding them.

“You might be owned by a man, like I been. You might be owned by the state, like I was. Maybe the holding is your own voice taken and stripped from you. Your own body living under the eye of electric sizzle. Maybe that’s what owns you. Not wanting to be more owned. When I went in, the killing games was debated, they were not to happen. Too cruel, too mean, too everything bad. They said. Then they said less. Now the killing games the new football. They’ll say that what owns me now. My chains made of far freedom. I been silent. I ain’t ever been blind. What owns me is my own wrong and nothing else.”

Young’s thoughts here highlight how property and ownership relate to enslavement. Links aren’t allowed to own anything besides what they acquire through the CAPE program using Blood Points, a form of scrip that is worthless in the world outside the novel’s prison system. This further dehumanizes Links, who are treated as property of the state, the TV network, and the CAPE program.

“This part a game show. It’s all a game show. Chain-Gang Initiation Special: Wonder Wheel. Mean show. Same thing behind doors one, two, and three.

[…]

A spoon. Shinin silver spoon.

This one the joke of the group. The wheel got pictures of all flavors of silliness. No help in a fight at all. But the spoon we all see is cruelest. The spoon is so people can remember what this all is. But the crowd doesn’t see it that way. They gasp, then boo. Like they all on the same team. Like they shocked.”

Young illuminates the irony of the audience getting upset about how unfair a specific weapon or match-up is. While they “gasp” when a Rookie Link is given a spoon as a weapon, suddenly feeling like CAPE has done something unsavory, they ignore the fact that all CAPE fighters but one have died, no matter their starting weapon. High Freedom is more a public relations stunt than a plausible outcome.

“The world had been reminded of just how fucked it was for the state to murder its citizens in this or any other way. As such, the soldier-police were predictably increasing their presence around all Chain-Gang All-Stars events and many politicians had already appeared before holostreams to implore nonviolence. An absurd thing for the murderous state to plead for, but, as always, the massive violence of the state was ‘justice,’ was ‘law and order,’ and resistance to perpetual violence was an act of terror. It would have been funny if there weren’t so much blood everywhere.”

This quote explores how violence is judged differently based on who commits it. Whereas state violence, which is on a much larger scale, is viewed as acceptable and even beneficial, violence committed by civilians, especially people of color, is met with punitive measures that exacerbate structural inequality.

“I come to you not as a sports analyst today but as a concerned citizen and as an abolitionist. We are at an impasse. America has the highest incarceration rate of any country in the world. We cling to the archaic and destructive practice of using death as a penalty for crime, when most countries have abolished the death penalty altogether. But rather than follow the lead of the rest of the world, we’ve gone in the exact opposite direction. Under the guise of economic stimulus and punitive prevention, we’ve allowed the state to administer public executions as entertainment. We’ve lost our way, but we lost it long before hard action-sports like Chain-Gang All-Stars. […] That is what must be undone so that we might create new systems, new ways of organizing that don’t facilitate the death of our people.”

Tracy’s speech calls the function of satire to attention. Satire turns a mirror to the real world, parodying and highlighting its flaws and mistakes so that readers can acknowledge blind spots and eventually work toward reform. The novel is really a polemic about the real world’s prison industrial complex and the capitalist systems that drive its incentives. The CAPE program is an exaggerated version of the same thing, taking historical trends of mass incarceration to their hyperbolic logical extremes.

“Forest’s father spoke about hard action-sports as the natural and obvious extension of his own work, corrections, which was what the family had built its fortune on. And when George Woley spoke about corrections, he spoke about a God-given responsibility to keep the public safe. He spoke about absorbing the world’s negativity so that the good could shine through.”

One of the GameMasters, George Woley, admits that CAPE is the logical extension of the prison industrial complex; it is simply a new type of punishment—a way to profit more from those incarcerated for over 25 years or sentenced to death. The fact that these imprisoned people choose CAPE rather than remain in their current situations suggests that the true horror is the prison, not a violent reality show massacre.

“Us two been inside. To be inside don’t mean you did wrong, but many of us did […] Does each evil cancel the other out? Does disappearing one person from the earth clean it some? I seen men I knew were a danger to the world and they too deserve better than this. A shame for me to hope for better, but I know it’s better can be done. Ain’t no magic potions for these bleeding human hearts. Ain’t no building full of hurt gonna save the masses.

Still, maybe they right. Maybe this what we deserve.”

Different characters independently come to the same conclusion: A system that turns violence into more violence is not helping anyone. Regardless of whether any criminals deserve this, which Young thinks they don’t, their families and communities are harmed by the current system.

“The clothes I wear simple but clean. I used one of my murder points to have a brand I never heard of clean my clothes for me each week. Death becomes laundry. Death becomes food. Death the currency of everything if you let it. And they let it. But since it’s there I use it and I have a black shirt and pants to train in and sneakers that fit me and socks and underwear that all smell like pine and soap and the sweat of the March.”

Young’s usage of the term “murder points” instead of Blood Points makes The Violence of Capitalism even more explicit. Furthermore, this reveals the hypocrisy of the CAPE program and capitalism itself, wherein people are financially rewarded for committing violent acts against others.

“But where did the Hurricane end and Hamara begin? It scared her that she understood the Hurricane more than the person she had been before she was in the games. The Hurricane fought, the Hurricane could rise to any challenge. The Hurricane could shoulder the burdens of others thrown on top of her own. The Hurricane held people it loved. Hamara, though. Hamara was something of a stranger.”

Staxxx reflects on the multiple facets of her identity, which she attempts to reclaim and reconcile. Because so much time has passed since she was Hamara, and because she has adapted to her new existence as Hurricane, she finds it hard to remember the person she was before being incarcerated. Punishing people for decades allows their crimes to define them forever and freeze them in the past, counter to the process of identity formation and transformation.

“She was proud to boo at them, though she knew in her heart that she loved that they offered her a clear and obvious bad guy. A problem to be solved for the heroes, Razor and Bells, and their partners, Eighty and the one-armed Black man Singer. The Eraser boys were racist murderers and it was easy to feel that they deserved this punishment, deserved to be on a Chain. In some way their presence, what she appreciated as an obvious, simple evil, justified the whole thing.”

Emily’s thoughts about the Eraser triplets, who are white supremacist murderers, reveal the danger of the CAPE program’s marketing strategies. By choosing to focus on certain people who are truly monstrous, GameMasters create the illusion that criminals are different from, and lesser than, other humans—and that their deaths are thus justified.

“When Staxxx was a child, her mother, when she was still clear-minded, would say, ‘Be careful who you give your name to, girl. You don’t know how they gonna use it.’ Staxxx had been taught that when someone said your name, what they said next had energy. What was said about you had power.

And now her name had been disseminated around the country in ways she could not control. To hear these people carry it so powerfully, to hear her name this way. It was nothing like the screams for the Hurricane Staxxx. This was something different entirely.”

The nicknames Links use as modern-day Gladiators illustrate how their identities are co-opted, objectified, and commodified for entertainment and profit. When abolitionist protestors use the Links’ former real names, it is an act of resistance because it reminds listeners of the Links’ humanity, thereby exposing the moral issues with CAPE.

“‘I’m an abolitionist, which means I’m interested in investing in communities to address problems rather than carceral answers that don’t serve communities at all. Murderers and rapists do great harm,’ Mari said, ‘but the carceral institutions in this country do little to mitigate that harm. In fact, they do more harm to individuals and communities. The carceral state depends on a dichotomy between innocent and guilty, or good and bad, so that they can then define harm on their terms, in the name of justice, and administer it on a massive scale to support a capitalistic, violent, and inherently inequitable system.’”

Mari illuminates the crux of the issue: No human is purely good or bad, innocent or guilty. While Links and other incarcerated people may have committed the crimes for which they are being punished, fans and GameMasters have also done immoral things. In all cases, state-sponsored violence cannot be the answer—it only complicates and increases the problems it purports to address.

“The people in black clothing did not aim to touch her and most did not take pictures. But they called her name, Staxxx’s name, the names of everyone on the Chain, with a tenderness that hurt to hear. It made her remember who she’d been before all this. When her name had meant she was being recognized for who she was, not the commodity she had become. And that reminder brought with it a deep understanding of Bishop and all the other Links who had made to end their lives in battle. Thurwar usually, when she thought of her own death, thought of it as a deserved punishment. But these people, these people screamed so loudly not only that she didn’t deserve to die, but that she didn’t deserve any aspect of what her life had become.”

Thurwar is touched by the protestors’ usage of her fellow Links’ real names. Even though she herself does not have a CAPE nickname, she can feel that the energy with which protestors address her is different from that of demanding and entitled fans. The protestors’ tone reminds her and the audience of the Links’ humanity, providing one key in Thurwar’s journey to self-forgiveness.

“Having done a lot of so-called Civic Service before, Sai Eye knew what was to come. People telling them what they thought or didn’t think about their identity. So many opinions that were never asked for. Civilians offered their opinions like gifts to Sai Eye Aye. They’d gotten used to it. Sai Eye had long before decided to accept their harshness with a laugh.”

Sai Eye Aye’s experience develops the theme of The Relationship Between Mass Incarceration and Structural Inequality. Despite the extra challenges the penal system places on transgender individuals, Sai, like Staxxx and others, finds a way to survive in a hellish situation—in this case, through their humor.

“Once they’d started identifying each Link by their crimes, their deaths no longer held the same weight to the viewers. […] When humans saw other humans, they felt ‘bad’ for whoever had gotten sliced up that week. When humans saw a criminal die, well, that was different. […] it likely helped that they were Black women; market research found that the public generally cared less for their survival. In the center of the complicated nexus of adored and hated, desired but also easy to watch being destroyed, it had to be a Black woman.”

The GameMasters intentionally dehumanize the Links, using racism, misogyny, and criminalization as tools to manipulate viewers’ emotions about the murders they’re watching. The CAPE program’s popularity depends upon the public viewing the Links not as fellow people but as something less than human. Disguising their humanity under bias and prejudice hides the fact that the entertainment audiences love to consume is clearly immoral.

“In his anger, his frustration, his embarrassment, he pulled back and swung his fist over the barricade, hitting a woman holding sage directly in the temple. […] A trigger. There is a space in time when violence tears through from imagined to physical—and if that physical is met with more physical, then the violence can become both the vehicle and driver for all that comes after, and what has escaped can be incredibly difficult to contain.

Hands got thrown. The barricade of linked metal fences fell as a woman leapt forward and met the father Deane’s chin with her first. Protestors flooded into the farmers market. Some grappled with Deane, some moved on so as not to be trampled. The patrons inside the farmers market, out of either fear or anger or some sense of purpose, began to throw punches, and of course, the violence grew and spread. The truest human virus multiplied through the masses. The violence took control.”

This passage illustrates how violence begets violence and is contagious. This mirrors the overall problem of the prison industrial complex and the CAPE program, which allegedly aim to end violence by committing more violence.

“‘Loretta, you done some terrible things, but I’m so proud of who you are right now. What I want for you is to see what you’ve done and forgive yourself […] If you can forgive yourself, you’ll do what you need to do, here and after High Freed.’ […]

‘That’s the real High Freedom, goddammit […] You forgive yourself, you’re High Freed. That’s what I want for y’all. Forgive yourself, then you can start working on everybody else. Do that for me while I’m gone, okay?’”

Sunset develops the theme of Love and Forgiveness as Restorative Justice through this speech. Although he could never fully forgive himself, choosing to die by assisted suicide rather than face the possibility of freedom, Sunset recognized that treating oneself with grace is the only way forward for those trapped in the CAPE program.

“I hope I am not commanding him to his death. Simon J. Craft, who has been reduced to the Unkillable. Simon, who deserves no sympathy but won’t ever be undeserving of love.”

Young, having committed murder and felt deep remorse, has actually expanded his ability to empathize with the pain of those around him. He now has room in his heart even for someone like Craft, whose mental illness and killing spree would seem to put him outside the sphere of forgiveness. Their willingness to love each other fosters more love.

“I thank the world, unsure no longer. Worthy of life, I’m sure as it leaves. In the end, surely we are blessed […] The hammer welcomes me, Hendrix Young, to the unbound […] Sing when you want. Give the grace you can to what you can. Pray the redeemer accepts you, grants you grace. You are the redeemer.”

Close to death, Young echoes Sunset’s idea that self-forgiveness is the real High Freedom. True redemption must come from within. Resisting the forces that suggest some people are beyond rehabilitation or transformation is tantamount.