In my previous post, I said that historians will look back upon the American Empire and select a date – perhaps one as meaningless as the child puppet emperor toppling from a wobbly throne in 476 – and say “this is when America fell.” It is possible that date is already in the past.
It is possible that the date was mere days ago.
Afghanistan’s fall and our blundered exit are indicative of late stage decline. The Soviets left Afghanistan in 1989, and did long survive their exit. Will we long survive ours? Leaving Afghanistan was necessary, I think – though it should have been done long ago. America is not built to fight wars of occupation in the long run. But doing so in this chaotic manner shows that the ruling caste of America cannot do much of anything right anymore. Chronic inflation, totalitarian responses to a minor disease, poorly-managed withdraws from the outer periphery of the empire… These are not the signs of a healthy domain.
World War II broke the back of Western Europe, and the mantle of Western European Empire shifted to America, as the mantle of the East shifted to the Soviets. It’s a division that dates back all the way to Diocletian splitting the Roman Empire into East and West – only now that frontier of empire had shifted to the periphery.
The Soviets are gone, now. Will we soon follow? And with us, probably the predominance of the West.
Watching Biden play a Kabuki Dance on stage, trying to say that the bucks stops with him, yet shifting blame to his predecessors is just another moment in the rapidly-accelerating decline of the American Empire. China no doubt drools over the prospect of taking Taiwan – would Biden be able to stop them? Would he even try? And if he did try, would it be bungled as badly as Afghanistan? No doubt the Chinese are wondering these same things. Or perhaps they have already made the calculations, maybe they already know when and where they will prod the dying beast next.
At home, Leftists on Twitter lament that the poor women of Afghanistan will no longer be able to pursue gender studies degrees (I do not exaggerate), and that LGBT rights will be rolled back by the Taliban. These things are true, after a fashion, but the complaints demonstrate the true priorities of the modern American Empire: to export its state religion of Critical Race Theory and Open Sexuality to a world that does not appear to want any more of it.
Oh, you thought America was a Christian country? No. Like the late Roman Empire, the state religion is changing. Social Justice is the belief endorsed by the ruling caste, not Christianity. Where the two conflict, expect protests, Cancel Culture mob justice, regulations, and the like. The White Man’s Burden of yesteryear has been replaced with the rainbow flag and Black Lives Matter. Where once the British protested the burning of widows in India, now does America protest not providing gender confirmation surgery to the trans folks of Afghanistan. NGOs in Africa are just missionary organizations bereft of God, and infused with a dose of Marxism.
The State Religion of the American Empire may outlast the empire itself, as Christianity outlasted the Roman state.
Then again, perhaps Islam will extinguish it, as the Taliban have done in Afghanistan. The two great tyrannical quasi-religions compete for domination of the Earth. As the quote goes in the Highlander movies, there can be only one. Or perhaps China will be the final beneficiary of all of this, and stamp them both out – to replace them with their own brand of technocratic tyranny, now more akin to Nazism than to its previous Maoism. Imagine the Gestapo of yesteryear drooling over the Social Credit system, the limitless surveillance and facial recognition.
The wet dream of every tyrant: limitless micromanagement until the pawns in your game aren’t even human anymore. They are just meat robots with homo sapiens DNA acting in accordance with your social program.
Whatever the case, the three great brands of modern tyranny, Islam, Chinese “Communism”, and American Social Justice are all cruel and evil in their own unique ways – and all infused with religious or quasi-religious reverence and loyalties. Frank Herbert told us to beware of times when religion and politics ride in the same cart. In the days of the American Empire’s decline, there appears to be little choice in the matter.
Will the Biden Administration fall soon? Will Kamala replace it? Or will the intelligence agencies run it all from behind the scenes? Will the next elections contain even a smattering of legitimacy, or will the whole thing be as fake as a Socialist election in Venezuela? I have no way of knowing. But I no longer suffer the illusion that our votes mean anything at all, or that the ruling caste contains any remnant of competence. The fools are at the helm of the Titanic, and there is no removing them before the iceberg comes.
In the distant future, as Gibbon did, some historian will stick his wrinkled finger on a calendar date and pronounce “and on this date, the United States of America fell.” If by some miracle I were to witness the event, I would not be surprised if that date was already in our past. Historians have the benefit of hindsight, but also of not living in the aquarium they spend their lives researching. Some say Rome fell in 476, as a puppet emperor was deposed and sent into retirement. Did Roman citizens know this was an ending of things? No. To them the real emperor resided in Constantinople. Since they had first drawn breath, all power resided there, in New Rome. Old Rome had been a shadow for generations, and even in Italy, rule had long been pronounced from Ravenna, itself far less important than the economically powerful East.
Justinian the Great thought himself the Emperor of the Romans and ruled over the Mediterranean shores as tightly as many of his predecessors, more than half a century after the fall. What changed, then, on that day historians marked? Symbols changed; I suppose. We see discontinuity, but there was none. We see change, but such change was gradual, the product of generations.
The point is essentially arbitrary. A finger found its way to a date on a calendar, one small event in a sequence of centuries, and thus was it pronounced: Rome has fallen.
Looking back on American history, where lies that point for us? Like the later days of classical Rome, we are two nations, now. Unlike Rome, there is no easy split. We are not East and West, nor are we North or South. Even Urban and Rural does note quite get to the root of the thing, though there at least we finally see some correlation.
Nor is this split limited to America. The entirety of the Western World suffers from it. But here in America we can see its purest form. We try to put labels on it: Left and Right, Liberal and Conservative. But these too fail to grasp the essence of the divide. These aren’t merely two political parties who disagree on some things. Now, they are people who have entirely different viewpoints about the world, who are brought up in different ways, who live and breathe diametrically opposed cultural values.
In America, there are two countries. We might say with some accuracy that they evolved from a single one. But whatever the origins, they are two peoples now. With the rapid influx of unassimilated immigration, we have the seeds of more countries being sown. More than two, someday. De facto, America is broken up into little islands of Red and Blue, and in some cases, completely foreign exclaves.
Each country has its own culture, its own social mores, religious preferences, traditions, and ways of life. For now, a theoretically common law and government seems to unite them on paper, but the days of Trump and Biden show us that each country views rule by the other side as illegitimate. Both sides will claim fraud if the other wins, and it is entirely possible they are correct to do so.
Moldbug once claimed that American Leftists want to count ‘every vote’ because they know that, in the end, they do somewhat outnumber American Rightists in a raw sense. They think it fair that this minor majority means they are empowered to do whatever they wish to their enemies. And American Rightists want rules, procedures, and formalized structure to the vote, because they know that, in the end, their people possess more raw power. The guns are on their side. The countryside is theirs, along with most of the raw productivity. A drug-addled ghetto resident may not be bothered with voting if it requires even a modicum of effort on his part. In this way, both countries cheat. Both countries think their own brand of power should grant them supremacy.
Therefore, Leftists wish to abolish the electoral college, and resist voter ID rules. Their goal is to get as many people to the polls as possible. It doesn’t matter if the voter is a pot-addled loser who hasn’t held a job in 20 years, or an oldster out of his gourd with dementia, or a convicted felon. The more, the merrier. It is the opposite with the Right. Keep the electoral college, institute small barriers to the vote like voter ID. Each small barrier to the vote is some lazy slob who decides it’s not worth the effort to put down the crack pipe for an hour and head to the polls. Deep down, most Rightists would say that their votes ought to count a little more than someone like that.
At a more fundamental level, it is a political power game between two peoples forced to live side-by-side. Each day grows increasingly hostile. Rule by the other is seen as tyranny – and perhaps rightly so. Were we geographically separated, I suspect America would have already given up the fiction of unity. But look around you. Even in a rural area, you will find your share of Leftists. Even in the urban core, there will be closet Trump voters. Suburbs, of course, remain a battleground. Rightists often say the cities cannot survive without the countryside, and that is true after a fashion. But how well does the countryside do without the cities?
This crosses even formal country boundaries. China is an enemy of America – something even most Leftists understand at some level. Yet China and America are interconnected economically to an extremely high degree. It is even stronger still between the Two Americas.
Even so, rule by the other grows increasingly intolerable. In older days, we would probably have already seen Civil War begin. Yet, as prosperity still reigns, few people are truly motivated to risk everything they have to start that conflict. Oh, there is always talk of this. Antifas will cry out that the Revolution has begun, and the Boog Boys will talk about sheepdogs. Social media will fill with memes about helicopters and Communists.
Nobody truly crosses the line, though. Treatment of January 6th participants shows that great punishment will come down on anyone who even creeps up on the line. Now, you might say that Antifas do not receive the same treatment – and that is true, after a fashion. The punishment of the Rightist who creeps up on the line is blacklisting. It is cancellation. It is judicial tyranny. These punishments rarely (but sometimes) catch Antifas. In other words, the system punishes them. For Antifas, the punishment is rather more literal and personal. Each riot incurs upon them a slight chance that a policeman will maul them, or that a Kyle Rittenhouse will come, and they will die. This is much rarer the other way around. Typical punishment differs between the countries.
Regardless, the Revolutionaries do not actually revolt. And the Boog Boys launch no Boogs. Yet always the unspoken threat of both lingers over the political horizon. Both know that, should that day come, the iPhones and vente lattes will dry up. Cheap ammo and plentiful bacon will be gone. And all know that the first movers – the ones who do not just creep upon the line but cross it blatantly – will pay a great price for doing so.
So, the Two Americas engage in a Cold War with its occasional, but isolated, hot spots. Mutually assured destruction has been achieved without nuclear weapons. If the cities go, so does the country. But as the country goes, so does the city. As Leftists go, so do the Rightists. This probably all hovers somewhere in the mind of the average American. Perhaps it is not even fully realized, consciously. Maybe it manifests as a vague unease – a feeling of going too far, a fear of stepping over the line. Each time someone approaches the line, they draw back.
What will their family think? What will friends on social media say? Will they be able to get jobs, buy food, and enjoy the latest Apple devices? No… no they cannot step over the line.
But the Saxon still hates. The Communist still seethes with anger every time he sees an F-150 with a Salt Life sticker on the back. Neighbors nonetheless pretend not to know the affiliations of others. The Democrat lives in peace with his Republican neighbor – but only so long as the other pretends they are living in the same America.
Once, perhaps this is how America remained one country despite ideological divisions, in older days. Peace was maintained so long as the fiction remained that your neighbor was little different, ideologically, from you. With the rise of the Internet and social media, all such polite fictions have been stripped away. You know. They know. Everybody knows. Yet, some remnant of the old peace remains in the real world.
But beyond the router, there is no peace.
Look out of your window and see urban gentrification, perhaps. Or peaceful suburbia. Perhaps you see farm fields, forests, or the unbroken concrete towers of the projects – those never particularly peaceful, but no worse, perhaps, than you recall in your youth. America outwardly looks like America.
On the Internet, however, it is every cyberpunk dystopian hellhole ever conceived. And worse, perhaps. The things that lie beneath on Twitter should scare anybody.
A video was posted the other day of two thieves conducting an armed robbery. One of the victims pulled out a handgun and shot one of the thieves. You could tell the affiliation of every commenter. Their cultural and moral values were so diametrically opposed that nothing could unite them. To the Leftist, this was a great tragedy, and the victim was evil for killing some presumably poor person for the crime of attempting to feed themselves and resist systemic oppression. To the Rightist, the armed robber had forfeited his life the moment he drew that weapon and attempted to steal someone else’s possessions. The shooter was to be commended for eliminating such a clearly deficient specimen.
In a way, it does not even matter which one was right, though I suspect my readers would have a strong opinion. What matters is the diametrically opposed viewpoints, the hatred and vitriol thrown back and forth between people who are theoretically of the same nation, the same cultural stew. Of course, they are not of the same milieu, not truly. We know that now. Was it always this way, and the Internet just exposed it? I do not know. Maybe.
Regardless, there is no peace beyond the wifi.
Yet the fragile peace – with its occasional flare-ups – that holds in the real world cannot hold forever. What will happen if that dam ever bursts? If all the animus, hatred, and vitriol of social media crosses into reality?
Driving down the street, look at the signs. MAGA signs never taken down. Declarations that this house or that house believes in the core tenets of Progressive Faith. Screaming matches over mask and vaccination policies. The peace in the real world stands on the edge of a knife. Everyone fears to cross the line, to admit openly what they know privately: these are not my countrymen. These are not my people. I do not like them, and they never liked me. They do not share my values, and I do not share theirs. We have nothing in common.
What happens when all pretenses are stripped away?
Someday, the historians will look back on our history, and they will find a moment – perhaps one as seemingly-insignificant as the deposition of a minor puppet ruler in Italy was to the story of Rome – and they will say “this is the day America was cleaved in two.”
Perhaps those same historians will say of the Cold War that both the USSR and the USA fell, the former due to economics and the latter due to cultural infighting. Perhaps like the ancient fall of Sassanid Persia and the diminishing of Byzantium. Or perhaps it will be seen as something entirely different. We live in the aquarium they will someday comment on. None of us will live to know.
Regardless, there is no singular America, not anymore. Only the outward appearance still exists – and only so long as the waning pretenses of peace last in the real world. Not forever, I imagine. Perhaps not even very long.
Curious if y’all like this variant of the opener better than the previous one…
Red sunlight shone through the stained-glass windows of Saint Robert’s cathedral when Kyle Rivera came to meet the old priest. Approaching the altar, the middle-aged captain made the sign of the cross before the church’s famous relic, an ancient letter that predated the Second Exodus.
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” The priest said. “They say it came all the way from the Origin world. The letters are Greek, of course, but a dialect much older than the pidgin Greek of the Confed border.”
Kyle nodded and stood. “Is it authentic? Truly?” There were, it was said, enough relics of the Second Exodus to fill a thousand fleets.
“It was tested many times and confirmed,” the priest answered. “It’s a letter from an ancient Christian Emperor to Pope Eugene III, so long ago nobody can really say when it happened, what with the old time-dilation effects of the early exodus. It was written on the world Christ died upon. Priceless beyond measure.”
The grizzled captain nodded, gesturing to the empty pews around them. “And yet there are few pilgrims to see it.” It’s a wonder nobody has stolen it. A relic predating the Second Exodus out here in the boonies?
“True enough. Few come out to the Kileen sector anymore, even for pilgrimages. These are old worlds, as you know. Abandoned, save for the mining corporations and the forensic data archaeologists, looking for old relics. Which is part of the reason I asked you to come, Kyle.”
The priest motioned to the empty pews, worn in many places by generations of worshipers long dead. Kyle felt the age of the place around him, in the musty scent, the etched stone, and the architectural details long out of fashion in the core worlds.
“I know World Corp has you running another gate job out here.”
“How would you know that?”
“For one, why else would you come back here? But we are always monitoring new gate jobs.” The priest sat down in one of the pews, his robes billowing about him momentarily. “In this case, we want you to decline the job.”
Kyle laughed boisterously. “Yeah, sure. Turn down two million credits. Janus, for a priest you’ve got a lousy sense of humor.”
“It’s no laughing matter. Look, you know as well as I do that this sector is old. Older, perhaps, than New Landing itself. The Church’s records are quite clear that a colonization fleet reached Kileen in the early days. Perhaps direct from Old Landing itself. Perhaps even earlier. Only our records reach that far back, even in corrupted form.” Janus explained. “You should listen to us, Kyle. World Corp has been around for what, half a century? How old is the Church?”
Kyle shook his head. “You don’t get it, Janus. It cost me a quarter million just to get the equipment and the fuel to reach this sector. If I don’t get paid, I go under. That’s the nature of my business.”
“But you live here…” Janus pointed out. “Or you did. Your christening was on…”
Kyle interrupted the priest, unwilling to take a trip down memory lane. “Not for a long time. Look, I get lots of business out this way because people know me. But that doesn’t mean it’s free to travel. It costs 25 large just to get into orbit on a dustball like this these days. But forget all that. I’m a businessman.”
It was the priest’s turn to laugh. “You’re a mole man, Kyle.”
“Yeah, so?” Kyle challenged him, his voice hard. “It’s honest work, after a fashion.”
“Look,” Janus said, reaching into a small bag. “We will pay you not to go.”
Silence stretched out a moment as Janus produced the Estate Certificate, as good as gold – better even – anywhere the Church still had influence. Five-hundred thousand credits backed by the Vatican, and Janus just casually dropped it in Kyle’s lap. Cryptographic codes clicked at the top of the certificate’s display, confirming the denomination. Something is going on, something bigger than World Corp’s mining contracts. But what? What could motivate the Church to throw money around like this?
“Don’t go, Kyle. Not just for us, or the money. There are warnings. Warnings as old as the Vatican itself, that tell us not to go where they’re sending you. The Church has always been cautious in this sector, even after the Great Migrations. Ask yourself why this church remains in such good repair, despite the waning pilgrimages, the minimal and transient population. This watch has stood here for two thousand years, and never faltered.”
Kyle shook his head. “Legends to frighten children, Janus. Nothing of importance happens here. This is the backwater of the universe, always has been, even since I was a kid. Without World Corp’s mining operations, these worlds would be dead. Neither of us would be here.”
“Maybe,” Janus said. “Maybe. But the warnings are legitimate, they come from our oldest records, and speak of the nameless force that chased all of our ancestors out here. You remember your schooling?”
“Yeah. But look, let’s not get dramatic, Janus. People have been poking around the Kileen sector since the early days – by your own admission – and nothing interesting has ever happened here. The whole area is so boring, most of the early settlers left for New Landing. These worlds are cold and infertile, the terraforming job was shit and most of the habitable rocks out here are reverting. If it weren’t for the relics and rocks people dig out of the ground, nobody would even bother. There is no boogeyman out here. There isn’t anything out here.” But he wondered at that. Was he trying to convince the priest, or himself?
Janus shook his head. “It’s not like that. Look, I don’t have time to get into it. Point is, we take the warnings serious, and so should you. But even if you don’t care, we’re offering to pay you to do nothing, and it’s a good offer, Kyle.”
“They’ll just send another gate building crew, you know. Even if I take your money.”
“No. They won’t. You’re the last.”
“You bought them all?” Kyle tried not to think of the enormous expense that represented. WorldCorp must really want the mining rights to that system, because surely the Church would have tried to bribe them directly before going to every gate building crew in the Churchlands. Sure, it’s specialty work, but there are least a dozen other crews and… Well never mind that. Do I want five-hundred thousand credits for free, without months of my life getting flushed down the shitter? We can take another job, maybe that gig in Ravenna, and pocket the money as a bonus. Of course, if the Church is this desperate…
“One million.” Kyle demanded, trying not to betray his own anxiety.
“If you call World Corp right now, and cancel the contract with me as a witness, the Church will agree to one million.” Janus reached into his bag and produced a second Estate Certificate.
“Jesus… you’re serious. Okay, you win…”
Mercifully, the priest declined to call him out on his casual blasphemy. Janus walked him over to the cathedral’s wallcom, pinging the local World Corp headquarters. It was exceedingly late on board the orbital habitat, but if he knew his man…
Sure enough, Paul’s groggy, stubble-covered face filled the screen. The mining executive’s eyes were slanted in a fashion common in the Eastlands. “Captain Rivera. This is unexpected. And… fuck. Not again.” He caught sight of Janus. “Whatever this man is telling you is bullshit.”
Kyle nodded his firm agreement. “Yes sir, it’s probably horseshit and then some. But his money is good. And I can exercise my opt-out clause.”
“You don’t want to do that. You do that, and you’ll never get a job from us again.” Paul frowned.
“Now who is full of shit? If every other gate building crew in the Churchlands is out, then that means we were last on your list anyway. Which, I suppose I should have figured out on my own.” He chuckled. After that job on Cordova III, the whole crew had been on the World Corp shit list. Come to think of it, Kyle wondered, it was really suspicious that they’d even bother with us after all that. Maybe there’s something to Janus’s claims.
“What’s he offering you?” Paul sidestepped the question entirely.
“One million. And that’s for doing nothing at all. And me? I like doing nothing. Been wanting to do nothing for years, in fact. I got a whole lot of plans for doing nothing.”
“We’ll do four.” Paul said simply.
Well, he doesn’t waste time. Kyle smiled. This was going very well for him indeed. With that kind of money, he could pay off his loan on the ship. But there was almost certainly more room on the negotiating table.
“Five million or I walk.”
“Don’t do this.” Janus’s strained voice came from behind him.
“Unless you can lay out more cash, I’m definitely doing this. I am a businessman after all.” Acid dripped from Kyle’s voice. The priest’s silence confirmed that he either could not or would not.
On the viewer, Paul stroked his chin nervously. There was a dangerous look in his eyes. “Fine. Five million. I’ll have the papers drawn up in the morning. Don’t be late, this does not alter our timetable, understand?”
Kyle nodded, and Paul cut the transmission. He turned to the priest, wondering what he could even say.
“I’m sorry, but… look, the money is good. Still, I wouldn’t have been able to do that without your assistance. So, you want a cut, maybe? Maybe I could donate a quarter mil to the Church or something. Call it a tithe.”
“This is a mistake, Kyle. I’ve taken your confessions before… and yet I think this is the worst mistake you’ve ever made.” Janus stood up and stared at the tarnished, ancient reliquary for several moments. “But if you must go, at least take one of us with you.”
“We’re not going on a pleasure cruise.”
“No, you aren’t. But you may just need the Church’s help.”
Kyle rubbed the stubble on his chin for several moments. “Fine… but the Church pays the orbital fees. You want to tag along, okay. But it’s on your dime. I’m not paying the upfront costs.”
Janus nodded. Kyle looked up at the stained-glass window, the local sun setting beyond the horizon, darkening it. Great cylindrical generation ships lay below the figure of Christ, enthroned as the Lord of the Universe. There was a sadness in the messiah’s eyes, three crosses behind him burning as old Earth fell to the legions of Hell. But his arms encircled the ships of the Second Exodus, protecting them from harm as they traveled the deep.
I hope Janus is wrong. I always thought that was all bullshit to frighten children, but sometimes I wonder if there isn’t a grain of truth buried in it after all…
He shook his head slightly to clear his thoughts, walking out of the old cathedral. The rest of his crew would probably be in the village’s local dive bar. He felt more than saw Janus’s eyes burning into his back as he left, and he found he could not turn to say goodbye.
David Hogg recently claimed owning 22,000 rounds of ammunition should “put you on a list or something.” As with all such claims, one wonders what the threshold of being on “a list” might be. Can you own 100 rounds without being on a list? 1,000? In reality, of course, the Left generally wants to track ammunition the way guns themselves are tracked. Read the Giffords.org position for more on that. Whether you have 22,000 rounds, or just a handful of .22lr, the Left wants to know and track.
In some ways it reminds me of helicopter parenting writ large.
So many Leftist arguments boil down to the fact that they want to be your parents. They want to divvy up everything fairly. They want to monitor what you say on the Internet. They want to know how much of this or that you have, and regulate where you are permitted to go, and the method by which you travel. Of late, I have seen a number of liberal acquaintances mentioning that masks should become a permanent feature of society, because flus and other sicknesses can kill old folks, too, and how greedy and selfish is it to not wear a mask (even if you are vaccinated) and put others at risk of catching a cold?
Wear your mask, little Jimmy, and put on your helmet when you ride your bike!
I am old enough to remember when it was the Right who wanted to censor things – Harry Potter was Satanic or something. Now, Harry Potter’s author is transphobic, so out with that, I suppose. Your Leftist “parents” have determined that it is not good for you.
So many liberal causes have, at their root, a desire to control everyone else. Climate change implies that we must be told how much energy we are permitted to use, what we may drive, where we can go, and what we can purchase. Gun control implies that we cannot be trusted to defend ourselves. Knife regulation in the UK is particularly hilarious to me. Put that butter knife down, Jimmy, only grownups can have those! And by grownups, we mean agents of the government, of course. Extensions of political will. We might trust a soldier with an M-16 in battle, but when he leaves the military, he clearly cannot be trusted with an AR-15 in private life. Mommy government decrees it.
This video shows the child-like manner laid bare.
When you look at Social Justice language and style, it has a profoundly childlike spin to it. You have Safe Spaces, and everybody’s feelings are paramount. If you are having difficulty with college, there are spaces full of teddy bears and positive reinforcement to help you manage. There are Trigger Warnings to be had – like everything rated PG and above needs to come with a disclaimer. We must have warning labels on everything. It is not enough, even, to say that smoking may cause cancer. We must put giant bold language on every pack: SMOKING KILLS! Sugary drinks should be regulated, but remember, fat is beautiful (body positivity!), and everyone is special.
It’s as if life in a Left-leaning society is an adult-centered parody of Kindergarten. If you’re rich, the question is always “did you bring enough for everyone?” If not, of course, your wealth is illegitimate and immoral. One mass shooter, probably on a cornucopia of meds or just plain crazy, goes in and shoots up a place, and suddenly nobody can have guns, because there are a couple of insane loons. Get your universal healthcare, too, because Mommy Government will fix all the boo-boos. Censorship is important, because Mommy Government says nobody can say anything mean on the Internet!
It’s as if we aren’t adults, and aren’t allowed to decide if we want to smoke – knowing the risks. It’s as if we are incapable of separating words from actions, or brushing off a mean comment like a functional adult. We’re clearly all children who can’t go to college without stuffed animal infused Safe Spaces to keep you safe from all the icky mean things in the world. You can’t be trusted to drive a car, own a firearm, earn your own money, or choose your own doctor. And all the children must strive to save the Earth from the evil automobiles and air conditioners that are destroying it. Perhaps the Left will offer some construction paper and plastic scissors (the metal ones are too dangerous, of course) so we can all make little Kindergarten posters about saving the poor creatures of… wherever.
In the Liberal mind, nobody is an adult. Everyone is a perpetual child, and must be treated as such. If one argument doesn’t work on you, they will try another. And another. And another. If gun control doesn’t do it, then censorship, maybe. Or Climate Change. Or righting the historical wrongs committed against people long dead, by people long dead. Maybe it’s universal healthcare, or maybe it’s ending homelessness. If one cause doesn’t guilt you into becoming a Ward of the State, some other one will. It’s like throwing spaghetti against the wall until one sticks.
And if you disagree despite all this, go into timeout, little Jimmy. You’re clearly a meany poopyhead white supremacist.
Leftist moral supremacy is a Kindergarten kind of taunt, too. It’s “I’m better than you, neener-neener!” If you prefer private retirement plans to government ones, you clearly want to push granny off a cliff, therefore the Liberal (who does not want to push granny off a cliff – unless she’s a Republican) is morally superior! Wheel out the bat signal of ultimate virtue! Little Jimmy is not a Democrat! Na-na-na-na-na-naaaaaa.
I wonder what percentage of Leftists had severe Daddy issues growing up? Either way, I suppose there’s a reason we call it the Nanny State.
And Hell, maybe there are people out there who need a perpetual Mommy Government to do everything for them. But for the love of all that is holy, can they not drag the rest of us back down to Kindergarten with them? Some of us actually like being functional adults.