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Victim privilege - updated

Over the past few years I’ve been accused of white privilege and male privilege.

I’ve been told that my ideas reveal my unconscious bias.

I’ve been told that simply by living my life as I choose, I force others into a world that isn’t fair.

I’ve been told that I can’t quote people if they don’t match my skin color.

I’ve been told that my ideas of justice are antiquated.

I’ve been told that my words are code words for other ideas.

I’ve been told that I must watch carefully lest I hurt someone.

I think those people lied.

I think that by limiting the topics we discuss, those people seek power.

I think that’s why they choose the words we’re “allowed” to say.

I think that’s why they redefine the words as needed.

I think that’s why they pick the people who are allowed to talk.

I am tired of it.

Chris Hernandez had a great piece at The Federalist.

Yes, f*** your trauma. My sympathy for your suffering, whether that suffering was real or imaginary, ended when you demanded I change my life to avoid bringing up your bad memories. You don’t seem to have figured this out, but there is no “I must never be reminded of a negative experience” expectation in any culture anywhere on earth.

If your psyche is so fragile you fall apart when someone inadvertently reminds you of “trauma,” especially if that trauma consisted of you overreacting to a self-interpreted racial slur, you need therapy. You belong on a psychiatrist’s couch, not in college dictating what the rest of society can’t do, say, or think. Get your own head right before you try to run other people’s lives. If you expect everyone around you to cater to your neurosis, forever, you’re what I’d call a “failure at life,” doomed to perpetual disappointment.

Oh, I should add: f** my trauma, too. I must be old-fashioned, but I always thought coming to terms with pain was part of growing up. I’ve never expected anyone to not knock on my door because it reminds me of that terrifying morning decades ago. I’ve never blown up at anyone for startling me with a camera flash (I’ve never even mentioned it to anyone who did). I’ve never expected anyone to not talk about Iraq or Afghanistan around me, even though some memories still hurt. I don’t need trigger warnings because a book might remind me of a murder victim I’ve seen.

So I am going to call those folks on their victimhood. And I am not going to be nice.

I’m not responsible for their trigger moments. I won’t guard their safe spaces.

It’s time for people to grow up and take responsibility.

Or die waiting for someone to take care of them out of pity.

Power by victimhood depends on the other guy’s guilt.

I thought I had a lot more to say on this. But it’s pretty simple really.

I won’t feed the victimhood anymore.
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