In Defense of Sansa

There's been a lot of conversation in the days since Game of Thrones last aired Sunday. Most of it has been about plot choices and what people would prefer to see in the show. One particular issue, though, has rammifications beyond the show and has caught my attention. Game of Thrones has always been criticized for its treatment of women. Early in the show there was a lot of nudity and sexual violence, which ended largely because the show became a success and the actresses had bargaining power for what they would and wouldn't consent to do.

Part of the criticism was answered because it's a show set in the fantasy past, in the midst of a darker time and a strong patriarchy. Women are treated poorly because that's been the lot of women in history. That doesn't hold a lot of weight for a show that features zombies and dragons; historical accuracy is somewhat malleable. There's only ever been one woman in the writer's room and it's easy to tell what perspective reigns.

The controversy returned again this week with a short conversation between Sansa Stark, a scion of one of the noble houses, and Sandor Clegane (known as The Hound). As a child, Sansa had been sent to the capital and betrothed to a lunatic sadist would-be king. The Hound was the personal bodyguard of said prince and bailed when it became apparent the guy wasn't worth defending. He offered to take Sansa with him, to bring her home, but his reputation wasn't the greatest at that point and she was very afraid to speak up for herself or act in her own best interest.

One of the arcs of the show has been Sansa's growth and maturity, most of which comes in the midst of terrible sexual and emotional violence.
She spent years being used and abused as pawns of more powerful people. She survived and has become a wise, ruthless, powerful player in her own right. It's a triumph of resiliency - at least as much as can be in a fictional universe.

The conversation in question has Clegane reminding Sansa that he could've saved her from the terrible suffering that has been her life. She reminds him that she's also achieved incredible success in the midst of that suffering and says that without her suffering, she would not be the wise, self-assured person speaking to him.

Obviously, it's problematic to have a woman give credit for her success to the horrors of her life, as if she didn't already have this potential within her that could've been brought out in other (less miserable) ways. This is sound criticism, but I'm not sure that's really what's being implied. I saw her statement as recognizing the importance of adversity. Yes, she could have realized her potential without rape and abuse, but perhaps she could not have realized her potential without suffering and struggle. The coddled, sheltered life meant for her, cushioned by a safe, protected, familiar environment likely would not have given her the tools to navigate an otherwise dangerous and ruthless world.

Our children need to be challenged - to stumble, fall, and fail - allowing them to do so is one of the most difficult parts of parenting. Protection is a natural instinct that's reinforced by cultural pressure to remove obstacles from our children's paths to success. We make fun of parents showing up to job interviews with their twenty-something children or negotiating grades with college professors, but that's just an extension of the social pressure towards supervised play dates and baby wipe warmers.

It's not that any of those things or those instincts is bad on its own merits, but to the extent we keep our children from failing, we're failing them. I'm the father of an almost-seven-year-old only child. She's as spoiled as they come - or at least it feels that way. I'm not talking about dropping them off at boot camp or taking away their bike helmets. It's hard enough to make my daughter (and remember, she's seven) buckle her own seat-belt.

I see how easy it is to quit when things are difficult. From tying her shoes to pouring a glass of milk, simple tasks still take practice - which usually means failure, at first. A lot of things came easy to me in life; those things gave me space to just avoid the things that didn't come easy. I don't know that I learned hard work as well as I could have. I'm pretty sure I could've used a little more perseverance in the face of failure; I suspect most of us could.

Because life is hard. Well, life for many of us could be pretty easy. I'm an educated straight white male; the stars have aligned to make coasting through life awfully easy for me and people like me. I guess I should say making a worthwhile life is hard. It's difficult to accomplish things that really matter, no matter how gifted you are. Maybe I'm dead wrong and the writers of Game of Thrones really do believe that everything happens for a reason. Rather than justifying abuse, I hope they're simply trying to point out the value of adversity in general. We could all use the reminder from time to time.