Refusing to be part of the perpetual rage machine made me realize one reason people hate politics: there’s always somebody whining somewhere. And by whining, I mean that literally. Such people are not protesting about actual hurts or injuries; their suffering is not valid. They are the thin-skinned brigade, filling up my life and your life with their incessant ouchies that they present as holocausts.
Feminists are queens at this, as are social justice warriors, as are black racists, environmentalist loons, and Marxists. People, you have none or very few actual injuries! You don’t have to shut up, but I’ve lost any sympathy that I ever had for you. Why? My stores of mercy have been drained dry.
No-one can continually absorb all the misdirected anger, the imagined hate, the terrorizing persecution that all these groups emit. Anger is wearying, and freaking out over something you don’t understand is just directing all of your energy outwards. You’re screwed up, so you find somebody to hate. You feel marginalized, so it’s obviously the patriarchy’s fault, or the Man, or White people, or whatever.
The end result is so many people tune out politics because so much of it is just bull. There is no patriarchy. There is very little racism left. There is no conspiracy against trans people. None of those things exist in reality, and I can understand why the average Joe looks at these people and thinks of them as being in the same camp as dementia patients, and so they tune out.
I won’t give the babies space in my head; they don’t deserve it and they’re sure not paying me rent.