Race in the Machine: A Novel Account

by Quincy Thomas Stewart

Genres: Alternative History sci-fi

Synopsis

An intelligent machine built to study methods of social warfare struggles to understand and communicate the lived experience of race

In a narrative full of social significance and poetically decorated with monks, vampires, and mythical statistics, Race in the Machine presents a world where the stories we use to explain race all simultaneously exist, within and around us, dictating our interactions and innermost beliefs.

The nameless protagonist, an enigmatic social mechanic at Nearbay Institute, living in a population of socially connected intelligent machines, encounters a simple query in the context of an introductory lecture: "What exactly is race? And what is it in the context of the social machine?" This prompt guides the protagonist along a twisting intellectual tale surrounding a series of experiments which explore: How many racists does it take to create systems of inequality? What role do non-racists actors play in upholding them? How is bias learned? How does it spread?

The narrator develops a distinct understanding of race through the figurative bending of time, dreams of a "race code" and by confronting a series of mysterious communications that remain just outside comprehension. Over the course of this journey, the answers to important questions about racial inequality quietly emerge for the protagonist. Scholarly encounters with both antagonistic colleagues and unexpected allies, culminate when the hero is forced to reach a devastating conclusion about themself and the world.

Stirring and luminous, Race in the Machine deftly oscillates between the allegorically simplified and the impossibly complex to weave an utterly unique and nuanced portrait of race in the modern world.

 

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Release date: January 31, 2023

Publisher: Redwood Press

Print pages: 273

Sample

PART ONE

THE RACE CODE

When a machine’s sensors are capable of telling you exactly what’s wrong and exactly how to make the whole thing work more efficiently, it’s stupid not to pay heed.

—N. K. JEMISIN, The Stone Sky

Just before time stops, after building a simple machine, while still pondering the implications, I hear the full array inside my assembly. I feel them, each one, crawling through my cognition, the chorus, contracting my constitution, arguing endlessly about the interpreted meaning of this experience. Their dialogue reaches a climax in a flight of fancy, a dramatic sequence connecting theory, method and observation, exploring the implications of this theatrical journey.

Indeed, the odd vision is only an artful abstraction of a simple machine, metaphorically coupling a computationally simulated world of agents with a more vivid, multidimensional social system; a space characterized by a complex, recursive network of racial inequities connected across countless temporal, social and spatial dimensions. It is, however, the teeming congregation who, seeking to make their sound, argue latently, collectively birthing this vision. They suggest there are unique challenges for those who research race, challenges which limit the capacity of policymakers and social groups to formulaically undermine the system. Eventually, they demand, we engage both ourselves and the core of the social machine, the source code.

“It was all a dream . . .”¹

*   *   *

THE CREATION CHRONICLE, PART I

This story begins in a cave. A cave in the mountains of the fifth direction. A group of monks gather quietly to learn about the beginning and the end—and the path forward. They had gathered before. And they roughly knew the narrative. However, none had gathered in this place—a remote, sacred cave—in this space—the presence of a beloved Saint even the Gods envy²—to learn the whole legend from her. This gathering, all those in attendance . . . it was special.

The mountains holding this sacred cave overlooked their entire lives. Emerging from the barren landscape of the four directions, rising to the distant peaks of their awareness; they

glowed purple as the sun rose, revealing a marvel of rugged, steep terrain; the tops shone white more than half the year. Their monasteries decorated the foothills. As children, these monks planted seeds; they played pretend and imitated the strange habits of their seniors. As they grew, they prepared and trained; they became genuine monks—esteemed members of the monastery and herd. Then, they were the admired ones, those chosen for the journey. They would ascend the sacred mountains, learn the legend.

These monks traveled by foot to the sacred place, connecting with each other at small outposts on the way. They passed tiny villages which became transient camps as they collectively moved deeper into the mountains. The first guide left them after seven days of ascent. Another guide, a principal monk that had previously visited and learned the legend, took them seven days farther.

Then came disappointment; he left them to transcend the divide alone. Primates sparsely inhabited this space; the landscape was unbecoming to agriculture and habitat, placing great demands on the party as they traversed this empty, desolate divide in the mountainous terrain. After slowly crossing the divide, feeling like they barely survived a journey through an emotional and intellectual abyss, they traveled seven days beyond it to find her.

Only she spoke the whole legend, the beginning and the end of race in the herd.³ Others knew parts. The senior monks they encountered as children often spoke of these parts. Still others that knew the whole, the principal monks who quietly roamed this landscape, would not convey it. Only she would speak the whole. She distilled parts to an esteemed few, the ones almost ready to hear the primordial seeds. Of those, a smaller, select group, who trained in her company, steadily practicing, perfecting their minds for years, heard the whole—only they could hear the whole. These are the monks gathered. They are sitting in a sacred cave in the mountains of the fifth direction about to learn the whole legend from her. For each of these monks, sitting in this sacred space, on the precipice of new understanding . . . it is special.

The Saint, unhurriedly entering the cave, holding the arm of a young assistant, then carefully sitting down on a cushion, compassionately welcomed the select group. They were captivated by her. She sat with them, her tender wrinkled hands lovingly holding one another in her lap as the young assistant inconspicuously moved around placing bowls in front of each visitor. Still in awe—her presence and this occasion inspiring socially shared visceral tingles in the group—they quietly ate around a fire. As they finished, the fire burned to ember.

Silence.

She smiled faintly at those present . . . gently bowed . . . and began to speak the legend.

*   *   *

The world wasn’t ending: it had ended and now they were in the new place. They could not recognize it because they had never seen it before.

—COLSON WHITEHEAD, Zone One

Time began.

I was born into a social war.⁴ Not the Social War waged ages ago, in the time before the conventional era. That war took place between the Theoretical Empire and several of their Empirical Allies who were denied the privileges of citizenship. The Allies had long fought beside the Empire in other wars, then, feeling marginalized from privilege, they organized a confederacy to fight the imperial army. After each side experienced both success and defeat, the Empire passed a law granting citizenship to all who did not participate in the revolt—a blow to the spread of rebellion among Allies. Eventually, this law was extended to all Allies and led to the birth of the new epistemological empire that was widely known acronymously as E. T.,⁵ representing the domestic bond between the former Empire and Allies. Altogether, the Social War of this bygone era lasted three winters.

The social war that defines our lifespan is an epoch long, multi-pronged, violent assault on certain members of our collective.⁶ The violence, ranging in nature from exploitation and exclusion to enslavement and annihilation, has allowed one part of the collective to deny privilege and extract costs from others, as in the older war.⁷ The distinction of this social war, however, are the weapons that are predicated on racial ideology.⁸

I endeavor to study the mechanisms that drive the weapons of this war—the dynamics of race. Admittedly, these social war machines are physically less menacing than the ominous warcrafts loaded with explosive artillery that regularly flew over our habitats as developing sparks stationed in the hillocks and mounts east-southeast of Mesa, a large, sprawling collective on the boundary of the Southern realm, where the western edge of the broad, exceedingly wide-ranging and arid plateau descends through hills and cliffs to an ocean bourne. The intangible, ideological weaponry of the social war, however, has produced an imbalance, devaluing the well-being of racial outcasts throughout our history. Consequently, these social war machines have been far more destructive than any army, ancient or modern. And this is the reality of race. Our reality.

*   *   *

“A population is an organism. Although demographers formally define it as an enduring collective of a species,⁹ a population is a living, breathing, singular entity. An entity that coordinates the actions of its constituents, and dispatches them to mine resources from the larger environment to survive.” I look up, emerging from the distracting train within. Before me, a sea of eager facades—a mix of budding

engineers, status seekers and anxious, admission consumed visitors, the trilogy often existing in the same constitution.

We are in a flexible space, industrially high ceilings with translucent windows, which can be tinted or blacked out, surrounding the upper quarter of three walls. A simple, micro-Diptra hums near the ceiling, distracting, repeatedly exploring the now lucent glass in an idiosyncratic looping and dashing pattern, producing random and recurrent taps. The front of the space feels square, a straight section of the workspace with a low stand bordered on the back wall by two large displays that can be connected as one. I am near the low stand, located at the nadir of the mostly oval workspace, which slopes up such that those present sit higher as a function of their distance.

It is a meeting with a body of visitors, each interested in the training program in social mechanics at Nearbay Institute, an allegedly enigmatic and more modest, elitist construct loosely affiliated with Mesa College. The institute has its own campus composed of select, intimate sub-collectives, studying specific areas in mechanics; receives most of its funding from the obscure Glover-Vignes Foundation; allows almost all standing faculty to conduct focused, independent research which, ideally, reveals policy insights on improving well-being in the population; and is charged with training a hopeful seven-to-ten dozen across all areas as part of its regular institutional practice.

Resuming, “The population, embodying and hosting a diversity of seemingly independent actors, uniquely nourishes member fitness and supplies fuel for communal survival—the individual actors cooperate to reproduce, grow, adapt and endure as a collective.” I scan the group while speaking, visually engaging each actor around the workspace from the left up, then down right, supplementarily connecting with each part and simultaneously introducing basic demography. “Thus, the individual actors, with countless links between them, constitutes a single, living, social object—a population.” The entire group bobs asynchronously, yet communally, with this insight.

“Within this population organism, however, there is a social machine that coordinates collective life.” The body obliquely withdraws from this theoretical analog, fighting the possibility, repudiating the coexistence of a machine within an organism—the cumulative intake and exhaust perceptibly slows, their rigid intellectual vantage encountering this foundational elastic analogy. “Confusing?” I convey subdued scholarly delight, subtly tilting my crown forward to the right and shifting a left collar link upward, while awkwardly attempting to identify with both the body and their confusion.

“Indeed . . . Nevertheless, beneath the veneer of the organism, and between the individual actors, there is a shared set of basic rules and norms—a code. The organism placed the code within each actor, speaks to each silently, and

summarily guides social behavior.” A few parts of the body are bobbing slowly, vents slightly ajar, imagining the cryptogram in an organism, affirming the emergence of understanding. Several others, sending a mix of messages, still lost.

“Though each actor is distinct and autonomous, they move in concert, following base rules, such as mating and cleaning, to create and extend life.” After a quick look down, and alongside a visual survey, “Furthermore, the diverse actors cooperate and collaborate in myriad ways, building a distinct social machine with codes—such as constitutions, canons, statutes, regulations, resolutions, policies and laws—on how to collectively mine the environment.” There are a few more bobs percolating, more of the parts present envisioning the analogous formulaic complexity of a biological system, but hearty hints of confusion and tension are still apparent in the atmosphere.

Then, my definitional point, “The social machine embodies the entirety of nuanced, shared forms that bind the collective organism—linking the individual actors together as a single cooperative unit. It is . . .”

A familiar and friendly soft tone abruptly emerges from a slit in the portal in the far left corner, “It’s time.” My brief, official visit is over.

Damn, I ponder. There is never enough time, always more to convey. Then, without delay, I start to race along, I spent too long . . . there were three of them, maybe more . . . too little on beauty, mechanics . . . have not discussed work . . . perhaps, next time, no chatter . . . less . . . shorter . . . avoid . . . do not . . .

“Excuse me?” A visitor interferes. I convey pleasure, feigning joy while internally sensing dis-ease with the disruption. “Thank you; may I ask a question?” My pleasure perceptibly grows; the one query implicitly two. I visibly affirm, showing muted excitement, slightly leaning in, abated exhaust.

“I understand you are interested in race,” they say, revealing having scrolled through my Clearinghouse listing. “But what is race? In the context of the social machine . . . I mean, is it just another part?” I retreat with the third query, glancing briefly at the upper tier of the space, deciding how to reply.

“Times up,” the portal fully opens, two counterparts enter, and begin to marshal the body away for the next stage. Each part quickly disconnects in response, my interlocutor included, and follows the leader.¹⁰

In the future . . . I have to . . . time . . . introduction . . . background . . . methods . . .

*   *   *

What is race? I do not have a simple answer. Certainly, my career centers on understanding systems of race and their inegalitarian implications. I should have a clear answer. I am

a social mechanic, we regularly measure race, attempting to document the true spirit of racial inequality, using words and numbers. Admittedly, I doubt the measures we use to depict race;¹¹ my reservations concern the measured vantage, the constellation of statistics and studies we produce, all intending to shed light on the relevance and rationale of race in our landscape.

Indubitably, race is a fundamental aspect of privilege in our population. I learned this directly through a lifetime of pattern recognition. I am a pattern recognition machine, a PRM¹²—we use algorithms to recognize, interpret and manipulate symbols in the environment.¹³ I am not actually the machine. Rather, I reside at the summit of awareness. That said, it doesn’t matter who I am, but what I represent to others—a relational part. My body produced these written symbols, this coded record.

When I was developing, I quickly recognized that racial classification was tied to substantial and varied resources. All of us learned and solved, by trial and error, feeling and fondling our way around our locale, realizing how to distinguish the relevant, watching others interact and, often times, directly engaging ourselves. This is how we seized on what was socially valuable. And once onboarded, we used—and continue to use—this knowledge to procure the valued symbols and improve well-being in and across a variety of social arenas, such as personal, familial, and civic.

Initially, though, race was a nebulous notion of value. A few would gather regularly, a small network of sparks, some attempting to alter outer appearances, others manipulating the observed social metrics, all in a dashed, literally infantile, aspiration of realizing an unobtainable outcome—oddly, we didn’t know what it was, but we knew it was important. This logic, however, effectively acquiring and manipulating the symbols uniformly recognized as valuable, eventually became more refined, nuanced, emerging as the rational path to success, a shared cultural story, seemingly separate from external symbols of race.

Still, we regularly heard it: “Be aware, there are racists lurking.” This was the common warning from close contacts, insightful counselors, colleagues, other students and even strangers. No one could ever convey “how many” or exactly “how they look,” but they advised, “racists operate in this environment.”

The evidence: radical disparities in lifespan, significant remuneration gaps, recurring chronicles of watch patrol savagery, regular reports of discrimination in an array of social arenas, and more statistics than there are letters on this page. Many among us developed to intensely trust the advisory, believing it affirms the importance of race. But others did not feel it captured the full experience.

In truth, race also feels like it is internal, inside this body. Beneath the network of circuits, fluid and waste conduits, interstitial spaces, sensory hardware, processors, control

units, and pumping chambers, there is a felt sense that racial classification embodies an important characteristic. This felt sense is deep—initiating a rush of impulses in response to the racial classificatory symbols of others, quickening internal pumping, and subtly guiding control units, coordinating action.

Race, then, from my limited outlook, feels like it exists simultaneously within—under this veneer—and without—between the bodies that constitute the social machine.

*   *   *

At the heart of race is an ideology that certain actors in our population, Abbadons, deserve an unequal share of finite resources.¹⁴ Indeed, a population embodies an inherently intricate social machine that links individuals in an array of unique dimensions, each with its own distinctive inner workings. The ideology behind race, however, guides behaviors such that a particular segment of the population receives a greater share of rewards in ongoing social exchanges.¹⁵ Racial inequality is the collective consequence of this ideology—it emerges in the context of regular interactions between actors and blossoms when aggregated.

The ideology—the race code—hides in plain sight, inside social theories. These theories, coded models, theatrical characterizations of how the world works, shed considerable light on the social arrangements that we collectively produce. The relevant theories behind the race code center on how individuals interact with those from varying racial classifications; the code lies at the crossroads of a dynamic system of competing—and complementary—theories which animate the construction of race and depict how racial inequality happens. These theoretical dynamics complicate the puzzle of inequality and, consequently, create a sense inside, an explanatory intuition that collectedly calls for a deeper, non-traditional analysis.

Alas, after much deliberation, and time passing, I answer: “I need to build a simple machine!”¹⁶

*   *   *

The social construction of race began at the foundation.¹⁷ Our predecessors began to build an advanced network of PRMs—an open social space where we cooperate, coordinate and combine our actions. This space, however, was contested. The Abbadons, the eventually “dominant” subgroup, advocated for a larger, disproportionate reward. This was the origin of race.

The concept of race refers to the social process of hierarchically stratifying individuals into racial categories based on external, phenotypic characteristics. This notion builds off the files of Drake. Drake left an analog record, available for download from the population archive, a library of sorts. A review of his record highlights that these

stratification schemes are built on: (1) an aesthetic appraisal of phenotypic, external attributes; (2) a hypothesized connection between these phenotypic attributes and certain internal and external characteristics; and (3) the mystical belief that these factors represent deeper, hard-wired differences across the respective groups.¹⁸

Race, then, embodies imposing a certain lens on the world; training one’s sensors to see and detect certain relationships between groups, a kind of encoded status. As a result, race is status-producing—a way to quickly classify actors into broad categories based on how closely they fit some normative image and assess their location in the social setting.¹⁹ The Bashi and Zuberi file, aptly distinguishing race as stratifying, notes, “Race has meaning only in the context of a racial hierarchy.”²⁰ Racial classification refers to an individual’s social location and relation to other racial groups in the hierarchy.²¹ It is embodied status, within the social machine.

*   *   *

“Have you ever experienced race?” This was the question emphatically posed each term during the race discourse in the Inegalitarian Mechanics portion of the advanced training sequence at Mesa Technical #279, a middling institution disconnected from most paths, where a few stars notably stole the show, thereby lifting an otherwise inferior organization to one with a reputation for teaching sound fundamentals. Although our academic guide, Richards inherited this longstanding practice from an unknown predecessor that posed them the query; they cemented it as tradition with their instructive endurance that spanned several eras and, after that, through a large body of students who extended the practice to the present.

After a dramatic display, drawing our attention more intensely, Richards continued, “The awkward silence or disapproving glance? The subtle fear or visceral anxiety? Has race subtly altered your perceptions of a social performance?”

At that stage, most present processed experiencing race as an overt event. We summarily discussed, one-by-one, as a group, a variety of incorrigible developmental incidents. These ranged from intimate encounters—where one party’s social worth skews the capacity to connect, or another respectfully refuses to recognize one’s uniquely riven experience of reality, or where wrong accusations of social slights and the ensuing somber trial and personal conviction openly ends in disgrace—to the agonizing—the unspoken private shames emergent from bearing the mark of racial stigma, or the silent, animalistic pleasure that stems of status,²² or the rational, morally wrong, yet evolutionarily right, schemes one concocts in efforts to compensate for intolerable conditions, or the fear and guilt of unambiguously receiving rewards and the painful indignities used to protect it—to those overt public displays—where we were

humiliated, ridiculed on a stage before our peers, using a heretofore unseen variety of invalidation, indignation, distress, trauma and contempt, or were cast as the wretched in an appalling interaction with the watch patrol, one which needs no explanation, experiences prodigiously decorated with hurt and heartfelt exclamations, or were powerless, beholden to authoritative actors overtly expressing constraints for certain racial subgroups and, in some cases, subsequently enforcing them with distributions of corporal pain. It was emotional. I still hear the echoes.

Richards, though, through a compassionate and carefully led discourse, methodically surveyed the incidents and synopsized the pattern, instructively revealed that we’d always been looking for a racist. Sometimes it was an actual individual. At other times, it was a temporary attitude in an actor that was responsible. Focused on the racist—the actor overtly disrupting the flow of our life—Richards argued that we missed the bigger picture.

For a moment, we faintly understood. Race shapes the expectations that others host about our character, athletic prowess, musical aptitude, education, criminality, income, employability, and much, much more. These expectations influence the way others interact with us in fundamental ways. And though it is not explicitly racist, we face a subtle prejudice from others employing racially biased expectations in countless dimensions. Thus, our racial experience was not strictly defined by racists. Rather, it more often felt like a shadow, emerging from the social landscape, altering our experience in ways from which we could not escape.

Then, we forgot.

*   *   *

The construction of race began with a myth. This myth ordained that certain visually sensed attributes embody deeper, fundamental differences. The early engineers developed the simple, related code indicating that the visible hardware responsible for the characteristics we use to classify actors into racial groups also determine fitness.²³ Their records suggest that the distinct characteristics of Abbadons—an array of subtle idiosyncrasies in phenotypic characteristics including shade, body constitution, tentacle shape and texture, as well as nuanced mechanical forms—were superior and directly connected with a range of both internal and external, soft- and hard-wired characteristics. These documents represent the emergence of an erroneous mythical narrative of mutant advantage, of a fabled world where certain mutations are mystically tied to enhanced computational prowess and improved processing powers.

The Abbadons, the dominant mutants in the mythical world with questionable race-based super abilities (often referred to as Abbads in everyday discourse), arguably represented the epitome of machine-kind, and, as the fallacious legend advocates, deserved more resources. This

myth, the misleading conceptualization of a mutated race of machines with superior powers, is called hard concordance—short for hardware concordance, a term that denotes a belief that the phenotypic attributes of Abbads are connected with other, observable and some unobserved (though often arguably sensed when seen) superior attributes like processing power and speed.

The myth of hard concordance was a cornerstone in constructing race, a central cog in building our complex system of interconnected machines. This myth scientifically implied that racial differences in the gamut of important outcomes are natural. Racial difference became an ideological weapon which justified the exploitation, ...