As loathe as I am to admit it (and boy am I reluctant, I’m – admittedly metaphorically – driving pins into my fingers in an effort to egg myself on. I can’t help but feel I’d be ever so slightly more productive if I wasn’t for some strange reason intent on inhibiting the natural typing action of my digits. Or perhaps I ought to invest in some variety of dictation system. Which might backfire only slightly if I got frustrated with said program’s inability to perfectly understand every word that drops from my lips even when they’re crammed with food), people are allowed to have alternative opinions to mine.
It’s becoming abundantly clear and then some that vast swathes of my own countrymen disagree with me on some really rather important matters. I was in the minority when it comes to Brexit, changes in the voting system and choice in who we want to lead the country.
And so, I could try for a little tolerance. It could be incumbent on me to go on out and converse with the unwashed masses. This would help me to try and understand their various perspectives and precisely why they have such wildly difference stances to my own on certain issues. But that’s simply not going to happen. Who’s got the time to research their viewpoint and come up with considered arguments to support it?
Nope, let’s blindly force people to follow me and settle precisely into my exact thought patterns, no matter how indecipherable they might initially seem. So, imagine that you’re a privileged white girl in her mid twenties who’s had sufficient family support (including that of the financial kind) to feel guilty enough to want to share the wealth. Now mix in a little contempt for those who want to grab what I deem to be more than their fair share. And shout at them for not agreeing with everything you reckon to be true.
Try and see it my way – Bryan Adams