But something is wrong. I hate to say it, but it’s true. Fandom is not a safe space or inclusive anymore. 

Every new movie is marketed with outrage and hate. A cry to rally against oppression. Someone is getting attacked and this is wrong. Movies about beating a made-up bad guy are now all about getting the bad guy in real life. 

Hardly anything is about the movie itself. Is it any wonder that this years Oscars became such a horrid spectacle of violence? The Oscars simply promoted its new, biggest product. Division. As above, so below. When it did, the after-party audience was sickeningly huge. Vampires.

Everyone flocked to the disgusting spectacle and used it to promote themselves…as usual. Great endeavours overshadowed by an act of violence. The sad thing is…it’s not surprising. 

Meanwhile the majestic achievements of the real heroes, and their noble stories were forgotten, left in the dust of the designer label bar fight we witnessed. Most people don’t even know what film won Best Picture.

Coda.

Seems appropriate. It does seem like the end doesn’t it.

Afterwards, in this theatre of the repugnant we were treated to even more productions where violence was the big star. Roll up, roll up, roll up….

The Pirate and his Wife. 

The Celebrity Soldiers, so concerned with security that they are interviewed on CNN as they battle the bad guys.

War torn nations, so dangerous that they are suddenly used as arenas for concerts.

The leader of this violated country can’t speak to celebrities at one of their ridiculous events, and they are the ones that are outraged.

There’s no money to save people but cash galore to help them die…legally.

Drawing us all in, as we sit in the stalled traffic of life, suspecting there has been an accident up ahead.

Entranced by the red pulsing lights and the rush of emergency services. We stare, safe in our little metal box on wheels.  Fascinating, hypnotizing….until we see the hand protruding from the twisted wreckage. Lifeless. We know that someone’s loved one is not coming home. They have gone from one box to another.

“Please don’t let me see their face. Please don’t let me see their eyes”.

We want to drive away but we can’t. We glide by the hellish scene, but we always steal one last look. Looking at something that we certainly don’t want looking at us.  Just trying to make it home, fascinated by carnage but terrified when it gets deadly serious. A cautionary tale indeed.

The highway is indeed a perfect metaphor for life’s journey.  

Our heroes fall, fans are heartbroken…but it is really a symptom of a much more lingering disease. When we are obsessed with toxicity, some even wearing it as a label, to get ‘in’ with the in crowd as the song goes, it is a cancerous root that rots away our foundation.

But to be this obsessed, to talk about racism in a sensationalist fashion, observing but not considering a solution is not being serious, or respectful, at all. In fact, I think it makes matters worse. It’s disrespectful to the people who suffer. It trivializes their terrible experience. By never talking about a solution, we are doing a massive injustice to the cause. It gives exposure to hate. It kills our souls, spirit, and fandoms.

Do you want the Doctor to talk endlessly about the disease you have, or the cure?

My fear is that the goal here is, that some people are not actually fighting racism, but in an abstract way, innocently or by design, actually promoting it. By using it as the ‘draw’, to attract views, get adrenal hits, increase their popularity and in a neat plot twist, make them feel that they are wanted and a part of something. 

Like the frenzied kids at school yelling “fight, fight, fight!!!”” they are not wanting peace, only violence. 

On streets in the past, where I lived, I remember the people who used to gossip about the ‘terrible things’ that were happening with their neighbours. Whispering, gathering on the street…like vampires with shopping bags.

“Did you hear what happened?”

“It’s bloody awful what happened to them? So sad. Why do these things happen?”

“I wish I could help”.

No, they don’t. They didn’t care. Their eyes would light up, even when hearing about the smallest hint of someone having a problem. Like a panther hearing a cry in the jungle. They come running…but not to help.

They feigned care and compassion, but only truly cared about themselves and their burning need to gossip. A peaceful street was terrifying to them. They can’t get that ‘buzz’ from peace, after all.

Are we really helping those who need our help? Or, are we wearing their pain, as a designer brand to benefit ourselves?  Pain, after all is a brand. A brand can also scar and burn. 

Does this approach help us win the war? 

Here’s a question…

Is it working?

It’s not.