Why Do We Keep Returning to the Omelas?

Content warning: this section mentions emotional abuse, grooming allegations, and child abuse.

If you want to find a polarizing piece of science fiction, “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” (LeGuin, 1976) is a good starting place. Written by Ursula K. LeGuin in 1973, it’s a thought experiment about if we can believe in a utopia or would prefer a dystopia with a glittering surface and a terrible, hidden price. If we can’t accept the concept of a perfect world, then what are we willing to accept with our cynical minds and desire to be entertained?

I do admit, of all the Ursula K. LeGuin pieces, I didn’t expect this to be the one that would keep inspiring discussions. The one that disturbed me a lot was “Wake Island” from Changing Planes (LeGuin, 2003) and that will be the subject of another article which I submitted to Interstellar Flight Press. Even so, “The Ones Who Walk Away from the Omelas” has remained a contentious story that inspires spinoffs and sequels as well as constant discussion. Timing could be key, as Changing Planes came out shortly after 9/11, and the wonders within those stories could not match the changing world my generation saw.

Ursula asked us to imagine a city that was perfect. Surely, we can believe in a utopia that doesn’t cause excessive waste of energy consumption, super-germs with free healthcare, or seasonal celebrations. But if we can’t, consider what the price of this paradise may be, and Ursula takes us to a hole beneath the city. In this hole, a neglected child has to suffer so that the Omelas may thrive. Offering more than food, including a few words of comfort, will cause the city to fall. 

Citizens find out about this after they pass a certain age. Most stay. Others choose to walk away. They may do it as soon as they learn about the child, or come to an epiphany several years later. All they know is that they can’t stay in this city. They walk away and seem to know where they’re headed. 

Charlie Jane Anders wrote for Gizmodo (Anders, 2015) that a thought experiment from Fyodor Dostoievski has a similar question, if we would sacrifice a child for our happiness (Dostoievski, 1952). LeGuin also brings up Hannah Arendt’s concept of the banality of evil (Butler, 2011), that we as a society become conditioned to heinous actions when they become commonplace or systematic. Authorial intent seems to question how much evil we tolerate for our personal comfort.

Ultimately, the reader must choose what to believe in, perfection or ugly secrets. We can enjoy the summer parade that marches through the Omelas, or mourn a child deprived of happiness and comfort to ensure a life without sickness. For those like me who are just along for the ride, we wonder what we should think. 

The Omelas is a thought experiment, but the visuals haunt a reader. No one wants children to be hurt, especially one that cannot consent to be sacrificed for the good of a city. We can’t believe in a nice fantasy or an imperfect possibility, and so we argue. 

Writers also get haunted. They wonder what goes on in the city after teenagers learn the awful truth. Are there resistance groups? Shaming via social media? And that’s how we get the sequels and spinoffs. In fact, it’s how we get to the nonfiction and fiction presented in this issue.

Omelas can serve as an analogy for many things: capitalism that benefits from the exploitation of many to benefit a few, if the needs of the many, the refusal to believe in a perfect world, willing suspension of disbelief and how far it can be stretched. And we will be touching on LeGuin’s take on Kropotkinism, which informed her story (Call, 2007). 

I think there’s another analogy that fits for the Omelas: when you leave a relationship or organization that you can no longer change. You try your hardest, because you believe in the people who encouraged you to join. Eventually, you burn out. So you leave for your emotional health. 

We never hear in the story if those who learn about the child in the hole try to fight to make a change for the child’s sake; the spinoffs deal with that. But there are many real-life cases where you keep fighting to make things better, only to burn out and realize that you can’t. 

This year, I left a critique group, and turned in my resignation as a Municipal Liaison for National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo for short. My mentor ran this critique group, and before this year I would call her my mentor and a really good person to know. But she would allow the older members of the group to get defensive if I pointed out ableism, racism and transphobia in their works and recommended sensitivity reads. Mind that most of the time these members were cis white males who strongly believed that shouting, “It’s just a story!” was a legit response to criticism. Do you think that would fly in a more official workshop like Odyssey? 

Now, why did I stay? Because I made a commitment to the group and I liked most of the people, with only one person being outright terrible. And rather than remind people that critiques are subjective, my former mentor eventually recommended that I leave. I finally did after one yelling session too many. A week later, someone warned me how my mentor was involved in really problematic and shady stuff that nearly sent me to a breakdown. I had known my mentor for nearly a decade, since high school, and she had never disclosed this stuff that she knew went against my values of not doing harm to others. No one else who knew had warned me, because they thought I knew. It was an utter betrayal.  

I had wanted a new year of no nonsense or drama. It wasn’t even the end of February. 

Keep in mind that I was brought up under the mindset that you accept the critique you get and do what you can to address it if you believe that the notes have legitimate points. You try to listen. And I wasn’t being validated or respected by people I trusted. Then it turns out that the leaders of this toxic environment lied to me for decades. So I walked away. And it was one of the hardest decisions that I made.

Another ML, the one who encouraged me to join the organization, actually warned me about the new NaNoWriMo agreement. Long story short, the organization covered up the case of moderator online grooming minors and engaging in inappropriate behavior (Oak, 2023). When the whistleblowers finally brought the allegations to light in November 2023, the organization opted to put the burden of moderating this behavior on volunteers like MLs (Marlow, 2024). We didn’t do anything, but we would be punished for NaNo’s refusal to take responsibility. So many of us left. It hurts, though I’m keeping the Florida writing group to provide support for those who need it, because we wouldn’t have the power to demand or make the actual changes that were needed. 

I didn’t join NaNo to allow other children to be groomed under the guise of nurturing their creativity; I did the challenge initially to provide moral support for friends. So hearing the allegations in the middle of November, when NaNo takes place, was a punch in the gut. It was another betrayal. So I walked away. Only this time, I wasn’t alone. 

You could argue that neither case is analogous to leaving paradise. But it is like leaving a home where you once felt safe, as the Omelas once felt safe for the children who aren’t put in the hole and deliberately neglected. The story doesn’t say that it’s the right decision to leave: only that it seemed necessary for those who left. Their backs were to the wall, and they could no longer fight or live with what they knew. 

With all that, why do the Omelas keep grabbing our attention? If it’s just a thought experiment, why do authors return to it? With Ursula’s large repertoire, with darker worlds and possibilities, why do the Omelas grab our attention? 

Because we wonder if we are the citizens of the Omelas, or the ones who leave. Are we thriving off the pain of others with lives spent in comfort while ignoring issues like fast fashion and sweatshops? If we choose to leave, is it a choice at all, or a necessity? 

We don’t have the answer. But the authors in this issue have chosen to provide their answers, analyses and extrapolations. They don’t have to agree; but we all have a choice to make.