The Perfect Cruelty of the Hunger Games

I’m always fascinated by The Hunger Games every time I remember the series exists. Specifically, its worldbuilding, even more specifically, the games themselves. When I think about them for more than a minute, I find myself struck by how brilliantly cruel and manipulative the entire institution of the Games is.

How every facet of the Games works to suppress the empathy and humanity of a whole society. Beginning the series with the 74th annual games, it’s easy to wonder how the world got to this very extreme point–and so it’s maybe not surprising that, from ABOSAS, we know the games weren’t always like this. As the tenth Games begin, there’s worry in the Capitol.

Viewership is falling. No one in the districts, and even in the Capitol, really wants to watch. And for good reason.

These are the early games – devoid of any of the pomp, flair, and pageantry that will later define them. These games are advertised for little more than exactly what they are: a public execution. And people aren’t watching because the games are too cruel.

And so, the Capitol is looking for a solution. Not to make them less cruel, of course. But to make that cruelty less real.

A more rewarding viewing experience. And by the time we see the 74th Hunger Games, we have a very different picture. The games have evolved into something elaborate.

It’s grotesque. And it’s a phenomenon. The origin of the games is pretty standard authoritarian brutality.

After a collective District rebellion, the Capitol installed the games as a show of their power. A warning to the Districts, to know their place. And what’s more powerful than to not simply order the yearly execution of eleven children, but to turn it into a national entertainment event?

The concept alone is disturbing, and intentionally so. When she wrote the series, Suzanne Collins meant to comment on our desensitization to violence as she was flipping between TV channels: first a reality show, and then the Iraq War. In their full iteration, the Games are these ideas fused together.

But the fully realized Hunger Games aren’t just conceptually horrifying, they’re a mass psychological manipulation of Panem society that rewires the hearts and minds of its citizens. Every aspect of these Games sows discord between its people at every level possible. And it makes people’s own humanity and that of others worth very little.

It does this with the addition of, what are broadly, two elements: competition, and spectacle. And it does so in a unique way for every part of Panem’s heavily stratified society. HOW DO THE GAMES FUNCTION FOR THE DISTRICTS?

First, there's the reaping itself. The method for choosing tributes intentionally targets class. The premise for the Games in the first place rests on the idea that, at the end of the day, even a peaceful person will attack someone else in order to survive.

Peeta even says as much. But the Games also rely on people acting out of desperation outside of the arena. Desperation, like, say.

. . the conditions of poverty.

By allowing people to enter their names in more times in exchange for food, the reaping system incentivizes poorer people to be chosen. And why do this? This isn’t just added cruelty for the sake of it.

It’s multiplying the odds that whoever is chosen will be someone who is already struggling and hungry – already in a lifelong survival mode. Someone who is less likely to want to challenge, or have the tools to challenge the system that's oppressing them. Someone for whom kindness is too costly.

Singling them out, putting a weapon in their hands, and saying: "it's you, or them. " We can see this play out by comparing Peeta and Katniss’s reactions to being chosen. [PEETA]: "I just keep wishing I could think of a way to show them that they don't own me.

" "If I'm going to die, I want to still be me. " KATNISS: "I just can't afford to think like that. " If Katniss dies, her family is left defenseless.

But if Katniss sucks up to the Capitol, and somehow wins, they aren’t. It’s a forced choice. Compare this to Peeta.

Because Peeta was in a slightly more privileged position–albeit within the poorest district–he had a little more space to consider his own wants, feelings, and identity. As the son of a baker, he didn't have to worry about food the same way Katniss did, for example. Which isn't to say that identity and self reflection are a privilege–these are things we all deserve -- but that’s precisely why those things are targeted.

If people are focused on surviving, they simply won’t have the time or energy to consider anything else. Then, the Capitol presents the Games themselves as offering a permanent escape from poverty. Win, and you and your family are set for life.

But the promise of riches is a carrot on a stick–a hollow promise to an individual, rather than commitment to systemic change. Because treating the districts better as a whole is out of the question; but elevating a district citizen above the others? That's both simpler, and a way to send a message: "Look.

This is what happens when you behave. " And so it works. Because of course it does.

People do play the Capitol’s game with the idea that a slim chance is better than none at all. And the illusion of winning, however small, provides a sort of plausible deniability when the horror of it all becomes too real. In interviews, should the conversation turn dark or serious, Caesar can shake it off with “Well, maybe you will win!

CAESAR: "I'll tell you what, Peeta. " "You go out there. .

. and you win this thing. " "*When* you get home.

. . she'll have to go out with you.

" There's also the volunteer system, which is one of many ways Snow overhauled the Games to add “drama. ” People get picked at random (though I have seen this disputed by some fan theories) –but, technically, they might not actually have to fight. Because, hypothetically, someone else could volunteer for them.

As we're told in the books, this, unsurprisingly, doesn’t really happen a lot. So when you're picked, the heavy silence is a reminder: someone could save you–but why would they do that at the cost of their own life? A reminder that you’re probably doomed, and everyone knows it.

And you are alone. And so, this targets the sense of community *within* districts. Almost as if to make the point that, at the end of the day, They're the only ones who will have their back.

What's also key is competition. The competitive nature of the games separates people between one district and another, puts everyone in an immediate survival mode, and creates a hierarchy within oppressed classes. In this respect, the games are similar to gladiator fights–but with some really significant differences.

Namely, the fact that tributes are specifically and exclusively CHILDREN is intentional. Firstly, it’s a way to show districts how helpless they are–that not only can you make district people each others’ executioners, but of their youngest and most vulnerable. With the legacy of the Games, every district will have some child at the hands of a different district.

So when tributes do end up killing each other, they have now become a weapon of the Capitol, having carried out violence on their behalf. To the families of “losing” Districts, the Victors are the face now associated with a great personal loss. At the risk of stating the obvious, this creates a general culture of fear.

No child will grow up exempt from the knowledge that they might have to participate in this, and no parent is exempt from knowing they might lose their child to the Games–one way or another. Not everyone will be picked, but everyone will grow up bracing for the possibility. Preparing, mentally, on some level, for the reality of having to kill another child, or, of their televised death.

And this would be enough. But, of course, this isn’t even the worst of it. It’s not just the violence.

The competitive element existed from the beginning–still, it wasn’t enough to get people to watch when the Games started falling in viewership. It’s spectacle that elevated it. The goal of the Games isn’t just to intimidate the districts, but to put on a good show doing so.

I’ve seen some fan theories that the reapings aren’t random, but are geared towards what would produce the most compelling drama. And it’s the spectacle of the Games is its greatest asset: the spectacle dehumanizes everyone involved, and hampers everyone’s ability to relate to each other. That is: the kids–appropriately named tributes–aren’t just sacrificed, they’re almost literally turned into products; repackaged, polished, and marketed for quick consumption.

Upon arrival, they are groomed to an approximation of Capitol citizens’ unnatural perfection: given makeovers, stripped of body hair, and, in the books, boys prevented from growing facial hair. They’re made to be objectifiable, dressed up in imitation of their oppressors in what are, probably, the last days of their lives. But the spectacle isn’t just dehumanizing, it does so in a very careful way.

Because it doesn’t make these people enemies, monsters, or martyrs. It makes them celebrities. And somehow, that’s worse.

GAUL: "Who will watch the Games if they care what happens to the tributes? SNOW: "Everyone. " Tributes' transformation into “celebrities” – either temporarily, or permanently as victors–is just more humiliation.

And in cases like Finnick’s, whose body is sold as a commodity, overt exploitation. As if to say:“Look what we can make you do. Look what we can make you become.

And we can make you pretend you enjoy it” This is the ultimate show of power–for the tributes to have to entertain the bad jokes, the flippant attitude, and play along, days before their suffering will be nationally broadcast. But they do play along, of course, because they have to. They have to leverage their likability – a ludicrous thing in the circumstances–because it gives them the best chance of survival.

And so the spectacle, the pageantry, is the Games' biggest asset. In the middle of an unthinkable situation, these children don’t even get the dignity of facing it as themselves. They're forced to put on a persona, to hold back what they actually feel, not share their fear nor recognize their competitors as human.

You can’t be likable if you’re scared, or if you’re angry. If you honor your own humanity, you doom yourself. SNOW: "The lone victor, bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of our generosity, and our forgiveness.

And all of this dehumanization is compounded with the insidious concept of “victors. ” Victors are the ones who may have survived, but they certainly don’t win. Any relief of having won is immediately sobered by the fact that it came at the expense of the deaths of their peers–including someone from their home district they may have known.

And the person themselves is forever changed. Victors come out of the games with PTSD, and whatever other physical injuries and disabilities. And now they've been made, almost certainly, killers.

Complicit, now, in the acts of the Capitol. But there’s more to it. Because they're not just severed from themselves, they're severed from everyone else.

PLUTARCH: "They think she's one of them, we need to show that she's one of us. " Prior to the 10th Games, the winner went back to their District, as though nothing had changed. But one of Snow’s clever updates was the reward, and even worship, of victors, in order to, as he put it "tempt a better class of tributes to possibly volunteer.

" The victor worship works on a couple levels. First, it leads to, as anticipated, some people seeing the games as a risky–but doable–escape from poverty. Snow asks Seneca: why have a victor at all?

And he explains his reasoning–that having a victor to celebrate creates hope: “the only thing stronger than fear. ” Hope takes the Games from glorified execution to a path to a more comfortable life. It’s unjust, but there’s a slim, slim chance that injustice might work out in one person’s favor.

Or at least, this is the idea being sold. Just enough illusion of victory for people to believe it’s worth fighting for – but still one unlikely enough to keep people afraid. And, furthermore, now when those surviving victims come home as “winners,” they’re severed from their community.

Not just emotionally, but also physically. Victors are made into a whole new class of people. Sectioned off in a “victor’s village,” they’re given access to wealth their peers will never have–and it’s almost flaunted in their faces.

As if to say: this is what happens when you play our game, and win. And so, this is an incredibly easy way to build resentment between victors and their former peers, and communities, who may now see them as belonging to, and representing their oppressor class. And though they're sold this idea that after winning, they'll be left alone, Victors are never allowed out of the shadow of the Games.

In another twist of the knife, those who survive the Games are made mentors to new tributes. Victors, already with their physical and psychological burdens, are forced to guide new tributes, knowing full well they probably won't survive. Forcing them to feel at least somewhat responsible for their deaths.

To meet these very young kids, know them up close, maybe grow to care for them– give them the illusion that they can actually help-- and watch them die. Retraumatizing them over, and over again. HAYMITCH: "He's a Career, do you know what that is?

" Careers are another byproduct of both Snow’s volunteer system, and the glorification of victory They're also another weaponization of class, the counterbalance to how the system preys on the poor. This targets the more privileged among the districts, who embrace the games not as a cruel punishment, but as an opportunity for glory. So competing with scared, starved, poor children are those from the wealthier districts–1, 2, and 4–who are raised with the idea that winning the games is a badge of pride.

These kids are trained in elite academies, and then volunteer at the peak of their fitness. Given both their advantage and enthusiasm, Careers often become capitol darlings, and give credibility to the culture of the Games. CATO: "I'm prepared.

I'm vicious. I'm ready to go. " GLOSS: "You are our family" But of course, the Careers are just another tragedy.

The whole concept of Careers just pits districts against each other and creates “elites” out of what are, ultimately, still, victimized children. Career children are propagandized into believing their volunteering is an honor, and the other districts (understandably) resent their wealthier counterparts for being Capitol favorites and the most likely to win. And it’s true–Careers do have a comparatively higher chance of survival.

But in being raised to be perfect killers–in being made an enthusiastic part of this gruesome spectacle, they’re still dehumanized. The life of these kids, in their own eyes and that of their families, is valued less. We get a harrowing reminder of this during Cato’s death, as he realizes: CATO: "I'm dead anyway.

I always was, right? " Because no matter how better off they are–they’re still District. And the Capitol won't let them forget that.

HOW DO THE GAMES FUNCTION FOR CAPITOL PEOPLE? So that's the Districts. For the other half of society, the Games are serving a very different, but equally insidious function.

The games disincentivize Capitol citizens from having any real empathy at all for the districts. Curbing any risk of national unity. While, at the same time, encouraging the Capitol to have a very particular imitation of empathy.

So, though it’s not nearly on the same level as district children, the institution of the Games dehumanizes Capitol citizens, too. As ABOSAS makes clear, the games without viewership–enthusiastic viewership–mean very little. So it’s advantageous not just to get citizens engaged, but keep them engaged.

Long term, generationally. Capitol citizens are encouraged to become, in many ways, addicted to hyperviolent entertainment. Which tracks completely for the kind of world they live in.

In a hedonistic, overindulgent culture, where all their needs are meant to the point of overflow "What's this? " "It's for when you're full" "It makes you sick. So you can go on eating" of course entertainment would have to be equally extreme to get through to them.

And so, as Capitol people become emotionally complicit in the Games and become desensitized to their violence, it suppresses their ability to empathize with others outside of their class. And so it disconnects them not just from others, but from their own humanity. And they become just another half of a psychologically exploitative machine.

This is encouraged in a really clever, manipulative way. The Games require two seemingly opposing things: to dehumanize District tributes and numb their citizens to violence, and, at the same time, the Games also rely heavily on viewers’ emotional investment. But only in a particular way that threads the needle between emotional investment, and CARE.

SNOW:"Everyone. If they thought the tribute they cared about had a chance at winning" Because Capitol citizens need to be invested enough to watch, to place bets, to react to the emotional beats of this television show. But they can’t care enough about the well-being of these kids to see the Games themselves as an injustice.

So the Games thrive by nurturing a thin imitation of empathy. And they do so, cleverly, by masking the violence with this artifice of care–that's what’s most insidious. They take the descendants of those “ungrateful rebels” and pamper them, idolize them, dress them in their best clothes, and feed them their best food.

This twisted generosity is a way for the Capitol citizens to tell themselves–and often truly believe–that they're doing tributes a favor. Effie is a perfect example of this. She represents the complicity of those in the Capitol who earnestly think their involvement is a kindness EFFIE: "That's one of the wonderful things about *this opportunity*" "that even though you're here, and even though it's just for a little while" "you *get to* enjoy all of this!

" She’s sincere. And that’s the worst part. I find Caesar Flickerman’s role in this especially intriguing.

He is sickeningly bubbly – charming in an uncanny valley kind of way. CAESAR: "IT'S SO EXCITING! !

! AH HA HA HA HA! " He is the ambassador connecting these two worlds, and his charisma is a huge part of why this works–it legitimizes the violence.

And this is where it gets really interesting. Because, Caesar *does* does do a lot of work to humanize the tributes– he asks them personal questions, laughs at their comments, he, in many ways, makes them look more charismatic than they actually are. and he even allows them to indulge some sadness that can be milked for the audience.

BUT, if any of them break the spell, actually express any resistance to the games themselves, BEETEE: "If the Quarter Quell were written into law by men, certainly it can be, unwritten. " JOHANNA: "But now? You want to kill me again.

Well you know what? F*ck that! " His wall immediately goes up.

CAESAR: "Interesting concept :)" “Right then. One woman’s opinion. " It is so sinister.

He jokes with tributes on TV as if this is all normal, as if they're friends. And then, in the arena, he discusses the horrible things happening as if he's talking about the next day's weather. There's a particular kind of evil about being forced to act friendly, and joke around, With the people who are about to kill you.

This is all based in massive, cognitive dissonance. A dissonance that works by emphasizing the barrier between District and Capitol. Making two parts of the same society as distinct as possible.

Where in Snow’s early life we see fashion that, while still conveying class, was much simpler, as the Capitol becomes increasingly wealthy following the ware, the Capitol’s excess becomes more ostentatious. So as the class and power gap widens, so do its visual markers. Capitol citizens develop their distinct, and often extreme signifiers of wealth and status, and become increasingly visually distinct from the districts.

And we see this play out as the tributes are introduced. While doing interviews, playing up the reality TV angle of the Games, Tributes are dressed up in elegant clothes, shiny and lined up for viewers to project upon and pick favorites. They look relatively familiar.

But once in the arena, those visual signifiers are gone. And tributes become “other” again. HAYMITCH: "You really want to know how to stay alive?

Get people to like you. " The false empathy goes even further with the idea of sponsorships–another one of Snow’s popular upgrades. As an incentive to get them invested, wealthy viewers are encouraged to “sponsor” tributes–they can send them water, medicine, or weapons.

But, of course, only to those who are following the rules–who, in this nightmare scenario, have earned assistance by making themselves “likable. ” By sponsoring tributes, Capitol citizens get to have their cake and eat it too: they get to indulge in the sensationalized violence of the games, and also, pat themselves on the back for having “tried to help. ” The relief of tributes isn’t even about them anymore.

It’s about how it makes Capitol citizens feel. Telling themselves they're good people, this feel-good hit of emotion for them to consume, and forget about by the end of the victory tour Doubling down on designing the Games to become addictive, Snow also built a way for people to straight up gamble on them–another hook to dig in to their audience. In another insult to injury, tributes performances is publicly ranked, in order for those in the Capitol to place bets on them.

A flippant gesture to their families back home, both humiliating and intimidating these kids in the days leading up to the games. There is no part of these people that can’t be consumed– CAESAR: "I don't know who we will miss more--you, or your brain! " Their faces, bodies, their lives, their deaths.

And their emotions. HAYMITCH: "I can sell the Star Crossed Lovers From District 12" KATNISS: "We are NOT star crossed lovers! " HAYMITCH: "It's a television show!

" We see all of this in the way the Games are upended in the first book. Peeta and Katniss manage to save each other by playing the game perfectly–giving the audience a love story to root for. Love, ideally, is something honest, something that connects us.

But like everything else spit out by the machine of the games, this is love for public consumption. PEETA: "It was the bond of love, forged in the crucible of the Games, that was our greatest prize" The Capitol craves high drama, and Peeta and Katniss are able to exploit this. Their love–however authentically romantic it might be–becomes something that can be dramatized for their own survival.

Because it can’t be enough that they just wanted to save each other—because, no, that would be an act of rebellion. The marketable story has to be that Katniss was too deluded by love, that she couldn't bear to live without him. If it were simply that she cared about someone and didn’t want to lose him, who in the Games wouldn’t qualify?

It couldn’t be just ordinary human compassion. It had to be something else–a display of emotion so extreme to justify defying the games, while, at the same time, satiating Capitol citizens’ need for intense entertainment. Because, as Haymitch reminds us, it’s still a television show.

But the exaggerated story that saved Katniss and Peeta’s lives was still driven by something authentic. By that human compassion that Panem finds so dangerous. And that’s what predicts its downfall.

HOW IT FALLS APART: REMEMBER WHO THE REAL ENEMY IS The institution of the Games reiterates the classic idea of “divide and rule” SNOW: "They're holding hands. I want them dead. " The idea that if the people you subjugate see each other as the enemy, they’re less focused on [Who the real enemy is].

They make certain that there is no risk of unity, or solidarity, between any of its people. The hand-holding of the victors in Catching Fire may have been a desperate play to save themselves–but nonetheless, we understand WHY this display of unity is a threat. Because that would undo the basic premise of the games–and of Panem itself.

For tributes to stand together means recognizing each other not as enemies, but mutually as victims. And we can't have that. And so, to circumvent anything like this, The Hunger Games target collective empathy on a cultural scale – especially, deliberately, from society’s youngest.

So how does this fall apart? Well, the first cracks in the wall are just. People treating each other, despite the circumstances, with real care, and dignity.

It starts with Prim. Katniss volunteers to protect her sister–a story that works to jerk tears out of viewers. Compassion–first, for a family member.

And that’s the first link in a chain of humanizing acts. Because there’s also Peeta. Peeta who risked–and received–a beating from his mother for burning bread to help Katniss live.

And although she doesn’t share his exact feelings, this means something to her. And then, Katniss meets Rue. And Rue reminds her of Prim.

And for a moment suspended in time, as if nothing is happening around them, they care for each other, and trust each other. Katniss’s love for Prim overrode her own self-preservation. And now, Katniss risks her life in an open field for the simple, rebellious act of honoring the life of a girl she cared about.

And it ripples outward. In Rue’s name, Thresh spares her. Then, Peeta and Katniss’s “mad love” moves viewers enough for Seneca to break the principles of the Games.

A crucial moment that signaled, for the first time, that something could override Snow’s careful rules: love. Even as a sensationalized, half-truth. Then, Peeta gives away part of his winnings to the families of the other tributes.

And with the social power that they have as Victors, they continue to break protocol, at great risk, to honor all the other children who died, allowing them to live. And all of these humanizing acts become a tidal wave. The engine of something unstoppable.

With all of the abject horror of the Games, I’ve found myself sometimes wondering – how did this not happen sooner? How did this system not collapse? And, well – to a degree, the system was fragile.

Its power was already shaky by the tenth Games. And even "rebooted," it does fully collapse within 75 years; the games started and ended within Snow’s lifetime. And the way they do certainly isn’t easy, but the driving force is simple.

The Games and the social system around them is engineered to make solidarity and connection as costly as possible. The reason this works, is because empathy is a muscle. A certain amount of power and privilege literally reduces your ability for compassion.

According to some psychological studies, including by professor Paul Piff at UC Irvine, at least in lab settings, “Wealthy people are less likely than poor ones [. . .

] to relate to the suffering of others. ” But if empathy is a muscle that can be weakened; it reasons that it can also be strengthened. And that’s what we see here.

Despite concentrated efforts to suppress it, the compassion of this society is never erased completely. After a life under the Capitol’s thumb, and even after experiencing everything she did in the arena, Lucy Gray still says says: “I think there’s a natural goodness built into human beings. ” I don’t think what she’s referring to is just a moral good-to-evil scale.

I think the goodness she talks about is the recognition of ourselves in the other. You could be me. I could be you.

That thing that motivates, as Chidi puts it, “our innate desire to treat each other with dignity. " CONCLUSION GAUL: "What are the Hunger Games for? " While the Games were a show of control and power over the Districts, they also were making manipulative claims about human nature.

We see this most explicitly in ABOSAS, through Gaul, Snow, and Lucy Gray. GAUL: “[. .

. ]That’s humanity undressed. How quickly civilization disappears.

All your fine manners, education, background, stripped away in the blink of an eye, leaving a boy with a club who beats another boy to death to stay alive. That’s mankind in its natural state. ” The idea, laid out as such, shocked him, but he attempted a laugh.

SNOW: “Are we really as bad as all that? ” GAUL: “I would say yes, absolutely. But it’s a matter of personal opinion.

” “What do you think? ” SNOW: “I think I wouldn’t have beaten anyone to death if you hadn’t stuck me in that arena! ” he retorted.

GAUL: “You can blame it on the circumstances, the environment, but you made the choices you made, no one else. ” Gaul claims the games merely reveal the truth about human nature. The truth that no one–including children–is really innocent.

While this is partially true, if somewhat dishonest take. Especially coming from someone who, yk, builds death battle royale arenas for children. Gaul just created her own trolley problem.

Because of course, if you put desperate people in an arena with weapons and the promise of safety if they win—of course many will fight back. So this is less a revealing truth about humanity as a whole, and more about the character of its architect. Yes–people in survival mode can and will do terrible things.

So sure, Gaul’s statement is technically, partially right. But she's omitting some pretty important information. People in the arena aren’t in natural circumstances—it’s about as engineered as it gets.

And actually, it seems as though even in dire circumstances, people are still remarkably reluctant to hurt each other. US Army Brigadier General and Army Historian S. L.

A. Marshall conducted interviews with thousands of soldiers immediately after they had been in close combat in WWII. And what he found, was that only 15 to 20% actually fired at the enemy.

This only started changing in later wars with the implementation of battlefield conditioning–from using language to desensitize soldiers from killing, to training them to shoot as a reflex. Not so different from what we see with the Games. As sociologist Randall Collins put it, “Humans are hardwired for interactional entrainment and solidarity; and this is what makes violence so difficult.

” And I have to think of another line Collins wrote for Lucy Gray: “People aren’t so bad. Not really" “It’s what the world does to them. Like all of us, in the arena.

We did things in there we’d never have considered if they’d just left us alone. ” Both Gray and Gaul’s claims have some truth–we do make choices, but those choices hardly exist in a vacuum. But you can't take an extremely curated event, and use it to make broad claims about human nature.

So, if anything, the intricacy of Panem’s and the Games’ system speaks to how artificial it is. It requires so much calculation, so much force to stay in place. So despite this machine built SO efficiently to train the empathy out of people.

it can’t get rid of it. And there's something else that I think is also good to acknowledge. While the kindness that undoes these oppressive systems is natural and innate—I think it’s also really important to note that kindness requires intention too.

Just because it's a part of us, doesn't mean it's always the easiest or instinctive choice. If, again empathy is a muscle, then every day, we have moments we can choose to exercise it. If human beings can be both antagonistic and cooperative in different situations, it matters what the social forces around us nurture, and value.

Of course, there are individual differences and predispositions–some people might innately be more compassionate, and some people might just be innately cruel and there’s nothing you can do about it. But by and large, most people are somewhere in the middle. And so, I find Lucy Gray’s words particularly meaningful because she herself is no stranger to cruelty.

She’s seen it as a minority within the worst-treated District. And now, she’s been a part of it in the Games. She’s been a victim of the worst of what people can do to each other.

And yet. At the end of all this, it’s still her who delivers the hopeful line. What prompted me to write this piece was wanting to highlight how calculated the Games' cruelty was.

But as I worked through this, what continues to strike me the most is how innately hopeful this story is. And it works because it’s not naively hopeful--it doesn’t make the case that people are innately good all the time; that the “true goodness” Lucy Gray mentions always wins out. THG works as a story *because* it is so unflinching in how it portrays both elaborate and ordinary cruelty.

And it still manages to say—“this is not the essence of what people are. ” I admire the series for that. It’s a delicate thing to thread, right.

Too brutal and it’s just cynical grimdark. Too optimistic and it can feel idealistic, or naive. But in the same way that THG doesn't shy away from the terrible things people can do to each other, it’s very clear about the opposite, too.

Something good, and kind persists in the people in this story–even when it doesn't always prevail, or "save the day. " Regardless--the kind act and its potential to inspire change are always there. And if people in these extraordinary circumstances can choose it, then those of us with our much more ordinary lives, certainly can too.